Packed Month

It has been almost a month since I have written anything here, a month that has been packed with everything from joy to sorrow and all points in between. I've been in rehearsal for a community theater show (now on stage, weekends through March 24 at the Pineapple Playhouse in Fort Pierce, Florida...."Small Talk- the musical," playing Tina, a gum chewing, ditzy New Yorker) - hard work, lot of hours, but always a lot of fun too. Community theater brings people together who might not necessarily meet any other way, although this show has several school board personnel involved who'd crossed paths in that arena. It requires commitment, more than anything, but also the ability to be taught, directed, focused, and flexible. Community theater enthusiasts possess these  qualities to varying degrees along their journeys, and therein lies the challenge: for old-timers to be patient with newbies, for newbies to develop a little thicker skin, for no one to think he or she is so talented that there is no room for improvement, for directors and audiences to remember that everyone is, after all, a volunteer who could be doing something else at the moment but chooses to be there, hamming it up for the audience.

So that was THAT excuse for not writing sooner. And not even the best one. How about this? We're moving next week. We'd put our home for sale online and the very first couple to ask to see it, decided to buy. Then decided not to. Then decided to buy again. The sale involves the need to also rent, until their own home sells on the west coast, which means we must vacate sooner than anticipated. And it all has flowed fairly well, with my husband David getting the heavy lifting done, taking loads and loads of stuff we won't take to an apartment half the size of the house it's all been occupying for two years.

Because of the need for finding another place to live, pronto!, David asked me not to take on more substitute teaching jobs. In a way, I've had an easier few weeks, only going to a choice few teaching gigs, where I knew the teacher, was especially asked, or called by the Catholic school -- it is such a joy to go there, I try not to turn them down. If you ever thought there is really no difference in secular and parochial, public and private, education, guess again. The students there have, in many cases, grown up together, known by teachers at all levels. There is prayer before classes begin, a continuity and stability and support from the administration that is seldom seen elsewhere. And how could it be? When public school administrators do a great job, they are often shuttled off to a "troubled" school to fix things, rather than given the opportunity to continue to flourish where they have been such an asset.

Soapbox interruption: I am a public school employee, support public education with my taxes and my energy, but I do wish someone would find a way to make it more user-friendly! Teachers are buried in paperwork, behavior problems interrupt their day with limited resolution, kids are moved along more quickly than their little brains have been able to keep up with, testing is too often seen as the end-all solution. Politics becomes too much involved, with unions out for their members at the expense of the students. Parents blame teachers, teachers blame parents, students blame each other. It is a mess with no easy fix. I do think that if ALL schools returned to basic teaching, having enough textbooks for students to take them home at night and study (novel thought!), requiring homework to reinforce what was learned in the classroom, and improved teacher-parent communication, things could turn around. Sure...on what planet?

In the midst of packing and rehearsals, enter something hurtful that stopped me in my tracks, pulled the rug out from under my feet, took my breath away, bewildered me. One of the most hurtful things to ever happen to me, at least in many years, and it was followed fairly quickly by something even moreso, but for very different reasons.

My father-in-law, Bud Gillette (born Edgar Graham Gillette, but called Buddy or Bud by family, including his children) had to interrupt his radiation treatments due to shingles, and never really snapped back. At 88 (or 89, depending on who you ask) he'd have good days and bad days, prior to this, but the pain of the shingles seemed to grease the slope down which his health slipped, fairly rapidly. One day he was confused and uncomfortable, but talking. The next he was at the ER, and the next in hospice. Almost two weeks in hospice, kept pain-free by the wonderful workers there, he drifted into eternity with a smile on his face. What a gift for those who were there! Many of the family were able to visit many of those days but Bud was largely non-responsive. Mom and my sister-in-law Donna were there for his final breath, during another long night, and it was an awesome experience for them.

Bud had been legally blind for years from macular degeneration, but his eyes brightened at the end. His countenance was transformed. My mother-in-law, for 68 years Bud's wife Joyce, said his mouth moved as if saying "Dad. Dad." Bud idolized his father, who died at the ripe old age of 93 (with the heart of a 40 year old, said his doctor). Others think he might have been saying "Adam," our son who went before. Whoever he saw, it was obviously a blessing to him, because he smiled. Peace and joy at the end...what better way to see a loved one pass away? As Christians, we believe that we will be reunited with him in Glory -- not the bent, blind, man we loved who had the remnants of an electrical accident, but Bud reborn, healthy, tanned as if just stepping off his handcrafted sailboat. He raised five children who gave him 12 grandchildren, who in turn, gave him 23 great-grandchildren. That's quite a legacy from the island boy who shot game for his family and joined the Navy as a teenager.

Even with the joy and relief that his sufferings are over, of course there is sadness. Bud was a great storyteller, and those stories are gone forever. He saw so much, from the Great Depression, to World War II, the building boom in Florida. Born in Sarasota, he married into one of the few native St. Lucie County families still around. My husband's family has been in Florida practically since Jesus was a boy, as Clairee said in "Steel Magnolias."

Now, family from all around the state and down from North Carolina are gathering together to honor Bud at a service tomorrow, and some of them will help us move this week, and I have a day off coming (it's been a month since I visited the Parallel Universe in which there is no drama, no phone-unless-there's-blood-involved, no responsibilities for a few hours, only relaxation and doing-whatever-I-want). I also have my sister arriving from a trip overseas and the promise of a good visit and lots of stories brings happiness in the midst of the stress.

In months to come perhaps I'll share some of Bud's stories with you. Years ago I bought him a little recorder and asked him to use it so I could transcribe them, especially for the little ones coming up who haven't heard them. I encourage you to do something like that with your elderly loved ones. Sad to think, but they will not always be here. There is a treasure trove of stories about the early years of their lives, the WWII generation, that will be lost soon, if someone doesn't make sure they don't. Perhaps in your family, that someone is you.

I've gone all over the place, which is (I think) understandable given my circumstances. I've got lines and songs to remember, timing to think about, preparations to make, boxes to pack, utilities to switch over (which I just remembered this afternoon), mail to forward, necks to hug, a man I knew and loved for over 35 years to say a final goodbye to. And then...back to "normal" life as I know it. Always a little stressed, but filled with such surprises of joy and love that going on is possible. I've vented a bit, and now it's time to get out the false eyelashes and turn into Tina again. The show, as with life, must go on.

Respect for Others, Including the President

The morning after President Obama gave his State of the Union address, I posted this on my Facebook page:

Seeing a lot of anti-president posts this morning. President Obama isn't the king - he presents policy to us, he doesn't singlehandedly make it. He'll be gone in four years. We're told to pray for those in authority over us. I'm thinking that THANKING God for our president will be more effective than focusing on everything one doesn't agree with. I know we all have a need to vent when we are angry, and I understand being angry about many of the issues in America today. But. How will we teach our children and grandchildren to respect us, teachers, law enforcement, employers, etc. if we do not show respect for those in authority over us? The Bible tells us that GOD raises up leaders and that he is at work, always always always for the good of his people. Do we trust that or not? I guess I needed to vent a little too!

A friend shared it on HIS page, with some edits. His share generated lots of comments. My original post generated lots of comments. Some were in agreement, some weren't. One in particular called into question the character of another man based on his support of the president. I know this man, better than I know his critic, and he is a committed Christian who just happens to disagree with me on a lot of political issues. His response was this:

No president is perfect. And I certainly have my own problems with some of this president's policies. This thread is not about agreeing or disagreeing wholeheartedly with the man, it's about doing so with respect. And with all due respect to you, judging me the way you just did — simply because I defended our president against disrespect — is part of the problem. You don't know ONE THING about me, yet you pile on all sorts of assumptions. Civilized discourse is dying. I hope it can be revived, or I don't see much hope for us.

Civilized discourse. What a novel idea. It reminded me of debate - I had to take a side with which I didn't agree for a debate exercise in college...it's challenging. Also effective. We need to know how to present information clearly and accurately, and stand up for the things in which we believe strongly. We also need to be able to listen to others and keep an open mind, at times.

Here's what wikipedia says about debate:

Debate is a method of interactive and representational argument. Debate is a broader form of argument than deductive reasoning, which only examines whether a conclusion is a consequence of premises, and factual argument, which only examines what is or isn't the case, or rhetoric which is a technique of persuasion. Though logical consistency, factual accuracy and some degree of emotional appeal to the audience are important elements of the art of persuasion, in debating, one side often prevails over the other side by presenting a superior "context" and/or framework of the issue, which is far more subtle and strategic. The outcome of a debate depends upon consensus or some formal way of reaching a resolution, rather than the objective facts as such. In a formal debating contest, there are rules for participants to discuss and decide on differences, within a framework defining how they will interact.

I'm 55, and I regularly write guest opinion columns for the newspaper, so I'm not likely to get my knickers in a twist if someone disagrees with something I say. I was tempted to delete the entire thread when my friend was criticized so strongly, however, but he assured me that he's gotten much, much worse. 

And, to be honest, he's able to dish it out -- I've gotten it from him, on occasion! He has no problem receiving criticism, but he does wish people could share their views in a respectful, lively setting. 

Proverbs 27:17 says that " As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another" (New International Version). If you share your views with me, it may solidify my own differing viewpoint all the more. Or it may plant a new thought -- why DO I disagree with this? Is it valid? Am I operating solely on emotion, or does my view of the issue reflect facts. Even more importantly, does it reflect truth? (Truth and facts are often very different.) Either way, our ability to hear what others are saying and be willing to acknowledge that we may not have all the answers is so important!

As I have gotten older, I have come to realize that in the past I was much more of a black-and-white person. I saw the absolutes so clearly, and there was a time when that's about ALL I saw. Some would say I've compromised, grown weak, gotten waffley. Even...gasp...more liberal. I choose to think of it as learning that I am not God. That you are not God. That my idea of God is extremely limited, as is yours. That I'm more comfortable thinking maybe it's better to err on the side of tolerance and inclusion than the alternative.

I was talking to a friend recently about codependency. She's learning, as I am learning, that it's okay to say no. It's okay not to be the glue that holds it all together. It's okay to take care of ME, so that I'm better able to help others (maybe) but mostly, so that I'm able to maintain the necessary degree of emotional, physical, and spiritual equilibrium within myself.

She commented that much of what she's hearing contradicts the Bible. I disagreed. I think it contradicts what we have interpreted. Yes, we are to serve others. Submit, honor, defer, etc. But Jesus' bottom line is "Love your neighbor as yourself." Most of us try to love everyone else because we don't like ourselves and think we'll feel better if we make THEM happy. But we can't, and we don't, and they resent us trying.

What does that have to do with political debate? Just that two Christians can disagree on any issue and still be Christian in their belief. There are some people who have been taught that anyone who commits suicide goes to hell, because a sin has been committed without time to ask forgiveness. I think that's wrong, and a horrible burden to place on the shoulders of those who have died in that manner. Salvation isn't based on how we die, but on what we believe.

The same could be said of many things some of us spend so much time and energy arguing over. Yes, God hates divorce (Malachi 2:16) because he loves US and wants us to be loved, fulfilled, at peace. That doesn't mean that divorce is always wrong. In some situations, it is the only path TO love, fulfillment and peace. Salvation doesn't depend on who you're married to, either, or even with whom you're sleeping.

There are times, certainly, for stubborn, non-wavering insistence. Jesus comes to mind. If you try to convince me that Jesus didn't exist, or he isn't God, or that he was just a good teacher, you're going to get an earful. On just about anything else, however, I'm willing to say that while I THINK this or that, and I BELIEVE this or that at this point in time, I may or may not be 100 percent correct. 

Back to President Obama: he's not the king. He's not a Hitler or Amin or Stalin. He's not perfect, either. His cabinet isn't perfect. The whole dang government isn't perfect. Nor is the citizenry. But we still have the "more perfect" union, the most successful experiment in democracy, and a nation that --while perhaps no longer even wanting to be known as a "Christian" nation -- is at least Christianized. There remains a strong Judeo-Christian influence at work, no matter where you go within our country. In the schools, in the marketplace, in government, there is still an underlying adherence to basic principles of hard work, decency, honesty, justice. That isn't what we always get, but we all know that those things are Best. That can't be said of everywhere on the planet.

And I believe that when the Bible says that God raises up leaders and uses all things for his glory, that it's true. I may not understand it. I may have voted for someone else. I may be looking forward to the 2016 election. I may despise many of the policies that this country operates by. But I believe that God's purposes cannot be thwarted by a simple election. I believe that he will use anyone...even President Obama....even me!...for his purposes and for his glory, and that no one...not even President Obama...not even me!...is powerful enough to mess things up.

That doesn't mean things can't get worse or that they won't get worse. It just means that God's got it all under control. And in the meantime, I think we can talk about our differences in beliefs, politics, issues, fashion, choices, favorite movies and music, whatever, with a lot more respect and sense of humor than I saw this week on Facebook.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Rambling about School

Our local school board recently stunned the community when it announced some possibilities to reduce costs. Less money for athletics, music, art. Four day work weeks. Mandatory leave without pay for some employees. School consolidation. Not only that, but the superintendent of schools announced he's retiring. Yikes.

If the intent was to stir up discussion, it worked. Hopefully, a solution will be found without causing too much damage to favorite programs. Like math.

As a substitute teacher for both St. Lucie County and the Diocese of West Palm Beach, which has oversight for our local Catholic schools, I see a lot. I see the new schools with shiny equipment. I see the older schools with paint peeling in the hallways. I see evidence of teachers in danger of being buried under paperwork. I also see teachers and aides working with a few students at a time who benefit from extra attention. There's much that could be improved upon, but there's plenty of positives to go around.

The atmosphere of a school is an amazing thing in that it can differ drastically across just one county. I've long heard (and believed) that the principal sets the tone. If a principal is engaged, fair, enthusiastic, kind, personable, competent...if he or she hasn't forgotten what it was like to be in the classroom...if there isn't an us vs. them attitude pitting the administration against the instructors...if children don't pick up on tension in their teachers...if politics are kept to a minimum...if the teachers have the freedom to focus on their students, first and foremost...it will be a great school. If not, well, it has more challenges than most.

Unfortunately, teachers who excel at teaching sometimes advance their careers by becoming administrators, when their gifts and skill sets are better suited for the classroom than a small, well-appointed office. And a great principal is too often moved to another school to "fix" it, leaving the school behind that had been a showcase for his or her talents.

Teachers get moved around from school to school, grade to grade, even subject to subject. Some teachers view their vocation as a ministry, a calling...and some view teaching as the path of least resistance, something there will always be a need for, job security.

I read some good news tonight, via a Facebook friend. We've been operating under the belief that American students were lagging far behind their international counterparts, but when all the data is factored in, they're not doing so bad after all. This is great news, as in Florida at least, children must prepare for the dreaded FCAT tests as if an imminent overthrow by the Chinese depends on their scores.

I've seen education from a lot of angles: as a student, daughter of a college teacher, a home school superintendent, a home school parent, private school classroom teacher, public and parochial school substitute teacher, sister of a teacher, parent of students, grandparent of students. Various in-laws have served the local school system in various capacities. There are real problems. The benefit of smaller private schools is more discipline and higher standards; the benefit of larger public schools is more programs and opportunity for the most kids.

Our local police department's command staff has to take mandatory unpaid days; perhaps the upper echelon of school administration will do something similar in order to alleviate financial strain. County commissioners may increase taxes. Teachers may have to realize they won't be seeing a raise...or find a better paying county in which to teach.

When we moved to St. Lucie County in 1967, there was a teacher's strike. If it comes to that, the subs don't have to strike too, do they? We don't get paid much, less per hour than the bus drivers, at least at my rate (AA degree). It's rewarding, though, to help a teacher who is off for training or a doctor's appointment or wasn't feeling up to snuff, to meet some of the county's finest kids and quite a few of its more unsavory elements, to be walking down the hall of a school you haven't subbed at in a few weeks and hear, "Hey, Mrs. G!"

There's no "substitute" for such affirmation. (Groannnnn. Sorry about that!)

Babbling 'Bout the Year Ahead

For twenty-four years, I've written columns appearing mostly in the Fort Pierce Tribune, as well as the Forum, the Independent (aka the Weekly) Stuart News, Vero Beach Press Journal, Burlington Times-News, Main Street Focus, and (once) the Raleigh Observer. This wonderful slice of life began with New Year's thoughts appearing January 6, 1989 in the Tribune.

It happened this way: I noticed that a friend of ours had a guest column in the paper. I'm not sure if I asked her about it, or if I just sent something in, but Howard Sharp, the editorial page editor at the time, accepted it, asked me to come in for a photo and gave me the heads-up about submitting invoices. They actually had a freelance budget back then. Would that they did now!

At any rate, Bob Enns, the managing editor (I think they still called the top guy "editor-in-chief" then) stepped down soon after and Lee Barnes took the reins. I went in to introduce myself to "Mr. Barnes." "Call me Lee," he said in a South Carolina drawl he describes as John-Kerry-with-a-head-cold.

I noticed that on his wall hung a diploma frame. I know this is what it was because the store's slick paper insert was still inside it bearing those very words in fancy font: diploma frame. Apparently he was too busy reporting and managing newsrooms and being editors hither and yon in Florida and North Carolina to actually graduate from college. Go figure. But you can tell a lot about his character, humility, and humor from that one simple frame on the wall. We hit it off immediately.

So of course, I tried to take advantage right away, asking if I could write for the paper on a regular basis. Welllll, nooooo, but he did like my writing. "We'll be glad to print whatever you send in." So I sent something in every week.

Eventually I got an official request to be the Wednesday columnist in the local section, and it was, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I made some folks mad, and got fired twice (by subsequent editors) but it was great while it lasted. There was one paper that actually closed down shop with an issue I'd written for, but I'm told that it wasn't my fault! Currently, I toss out the occasional guest column and Larry Reisman, editorial page editor for all three of Scripps' Treasure Coast papers is generous enough to run them. No more freelance budget, but hey, it's still a nice feeling to know that people in my community are reading what I've written.

Sometimes I get an email, or  comments attached to the online version of the column. Sometimes they're complimentary, sometimes snarky, both of which mean someone went beyond a thought and did something about it. To a writer, either pro or con taken to that level is a plus.

That's a lot of talking about me, something about which Lee educated me under his editorial guidance. Too many "I's" and I'd get a phone call telling me to either change it or to let me know why he wasn't running my column that week! But I re-read that 1989 inaugural opinion column the other day, and before I get to my 2012 thoughts about the new year, I thought I'd ramble on a little bit for context.

Rambling done (the downside to blogging is that no one edits me first!) what do I hope for in 2013? I'm not superstitious about the number 13, so none of that. And when you think about it, we passed the much-bandied-about Doomsday predicted by the Mayans on December 21, so why worry about 13?

Because our son Adam died in 2000, the turning of the numbers usually has me reflecting on that one point: it will be 13 years, now, since his death. Honestly, for many, many years, that is what every January 1 brought to mind. This year, however, there is a sense of change. Dynamics, family systems, possible local moves, new relationships for loved ones...that's a lot of change! What do I hope for, primarily, between the last day of 2012 and the last day of 2013? Resolutions are temporary, for the most part, but here are some random thoughts that apply to my own life, and may spark some thoughts about yours:

I need to manage my time better so I can get more exercise, and get other things better in order. I've recently re-discovered how many squats and calf lifts I can do while conditioning my hair in the shower. I've wasted precious time just standing there, and hope to remember more often. I could jog in place while watching television, too. My schedule hasn't been conducive lately to running at the track or going to the gym, which means I have to either change my schedule or come up with more creative ways to stay fit. Because I'm 55. And I want to be 95 one day, still fit.

Households operate best when there are some routines its members can count on. This morning, 9-year-old Adam suggested we have meals at the same time, like at school. I think that's a grand idea. It will take some cooperation and some discipline, and possibly, some fussing to get people out of the kitchen because I'MFIXINGDINNERJUSTWAIT. I can remember going through a menu-phase, in which I planned out an entire month's meals at one shot, and bought everything I'd need in one trip. It was great! Why did I stop? Who knows. But maybe this year, I'll become more organized about such things.

Housework's another area I could be more organized. When we were at Discipleship Training School at the Youth With A Mission base in Lindale, Texas, my work duty EVERY DAY was to clean our two rooms and the bathroom we shared with a couple from Norway. Things never required much cleaning because I tended to them daily. I took time daily. Things aren't slovenly around here, but I can see room for improvement. (I learned a long time ago that the way to my husband's heart is not through his stomach, as the saying goes, but it is freshly vacuumed. Knowing that, I think it's the least I can do to maintain a neat home for a man who has worked so hard all his life.)

I need to drink more water. You'd think such a thing would go without saying, but most of us walk around dehydrated, with fresh, clean water available 24/7 for the vast majority of Americans. Water is such a necessary component to our physical, even mental and emotional, well-being that I'm surprised there's not more of a push by the government to educate the public on this. We know to recycle and stop smoking and do breast self-exams and not drive while intoxicated, but I'm guessing there's a mess of people who don't drink enough water every day and don't even know they should. AND I KNOW I SHOULD AND DON'T! Dumb. Dumber than dumb. I just don't remember to do it.

I have to keep fighting codependency. Getting myself wrapped up in other peoples' behaviors and emotions is my default setting. For years, after reading "Codependent No More" by Melody Beattie, and going to a family counselor, I've been working on this, and making healthy strides toward a better frame of mind. What I'd thought was being a servant, being kind, being submissive, etc. etc ad nauseum turned out to be counterproductive in some cases, even harmful. I need to let people be who they are, even if it means they make mistakes or behave badly. It's not up to me to change them, or even educate them, even if that has been an appropriate role in the past for various reasons.

For instance, I have parented my children. They're not my responsibility any longer, because they're adults. That's easy when they don't live with me, but with one resident daughter, it's been a struggle. Have. To. Let. Go. When she has been ill or otherwise unable to parent HER children, I've stepped in. Too much, perhaps. Have to find that delicate balance as the co-head of the household in such a way that I don't usurp my daughter's authority but rather, support it. At the same time, we feel there are things we should require of all who live under our roof. I walk a fine line, and don't do it anywhere near perfection, but I'm working on it. Looooong way to go, as anyone in the house could attest. I don't expect to be perfect by December 31, 2013, but I'll be very disappointed if I can't show some progress.

I need to be more disciplined in my writing. I worked best when I had an editor who expected me to turn in a column on time, with the correct word count and minimal editing needed. Committing to this blog, and especially my other one (A Poem A Day) builds in some accountability, but I haven't written much for paying markets, for no other reason than sheer laziness. There's really no excuse for that. Writers write.

Those who know me and my background best may, at this point, be thinking "When is she going to talk about her spiritual life?" Well...I'm not. As a Christian, it goes without saying that spiritual growth is an ongoing process. None of us has "arrived." None of us, from the newest believer to the celebrity preacher to the theologian with more letters at the end of his or her name than one would think possible...none...NONE...should think prayer is no longer needed, or study, or worship. The day a Christian (or, I would think, a person whose faith lies elsewhere) thinks he or she knows all there is to know about God and God's word and God's will and God's ways is a day of deception and delusion. Eternity is how long it will take to fully know God. And since it goes without saying, well, I'm not saying much.

I want to laugh more this year. Kiss more. Be silly more. Sing more loudly and dance more often. I want to make other people laugh, and cry, because I've written something that touched their hearts. I want to look in the mirror at the end of 2013 and think, "You did okay." Maybe I'll be able to do that honestly, maybe not. But one thing I know for sure, I love being alive. I love love, love's power and grace and fierceness. I'm looking forward to seeing my love affect others, and being affected by theirs. I'm excited about seeing lives change this year in a myriad of positive ways.

It's gonna be a wild ride!



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012

It's My Birthday and I'll Write if I Want To, Write if I Want To, Write if I Want To

Somewhere in the vicinity of four in the afternoon, 55 years ago tomorrow (December 19, 1957 if you must know) I was born. I don't remember this. I don't remember feeling compelled to leave my warm dark home and venture out, squeezing through an opening in the cave wall, being pushed out (literally) kicking and screaming.

I don't remember any of it. There are months, years even, that I've lost. I was held, cooed and sung to, rocked, played with, fed, bathed. For years I received royal treatment, and I can't recall a single detail, which hardly seems fair. How many of us EVER get the royal treatment again?

My earliest memory is probably two, maybe three, a hazy impression of sitting on a high stool listening to my mother and an elderly woman. Mama knows exactly who and what that describes, but I do not.

When I was two, my mother was pregnant a third time, and was confined to bed. I don't remember that either. I played alone a lot while she desperately tried to keep the baby safe and secure within her womb, but I don't remember it. I know that as much as I love people, there are times I must be alone. I get "peopled out" and maybe this is something genetically mapped early on. I don't know. I just don't know.

When my baby brother died, I don't know if I cried or not. I grew up hearing the story, seeing the photograph of funeral flowers, seeing the photo of his still, perfectly formed shape, but I had no personal connection.

Out of 55 years, I remember close to 50 fairly well. I wonder why we're made that way? Why don't we recall every significant occurrence that has done its part to shape who and what we are? Or more accurately, who and what we are becoming. At 55, I am more finished than I was, say, at 17, but not as complete as the woman as I intend to be at 80. I know some things I want to see happen between now and then, and I don't have a clue how it will all pan out, but I'm determined to enjoy the journey.

What have I learned in 55 years? I learned how to cry early on. Turn over, crawl - pretty impressive feats, given my tender age. I learned to walk, talk, use the potty, obey my parents, play with paper dolls. I learned how to do math and use the English language. Learned to read, color inside (and outside, if I felt like it) the lines. Learned how to cook simple dishes (I haven't progressed very far from that). Learned to play a few musical instruments, the names of the states, how to braid hair, and (because I am a Southern woman and Raised Right) how to clean and sew.

I learned that people almost always do exactly what they want to do, regardless of what they say about it. That God exists and will do exactly what HE wants, regardless of how I feel about it. That love can be fierce, loss is physically painful, joy is as necessary to existence as oxygen or food. I learned that I feel loved when I am touched and when I am talked to, which makes me a cheap date, perhaps, but an appreciative one.

I learned from observing my parents and sister, relatives, friends, from reading books and listening to people. I learned a lot from sitting around a breakfast table while a bunch of cranky men talked to one another. I learned how to adapt to almost anything, and then I learned (only fairly recently) that I don't have to adapt to a damn thing unless I choose to.

I kiss well, I'm told. I could tell you other things I'm pretty good at (most of them), but I'm not genius at anything. It is one of the banes of my existence, because I always wanted to be the Best at Something, and I'm not. I could also tell you  the areas of great struggle and weakness that serve as the meat of most of my personal prayers. If you find fault with me, believe me when I say, it's no surprise. I'm already well aware of whatever fault you see, so you might as well save your breath.

In other words,  I know myself pretty well despite that annoying initial fog as a toddler. For the most part, I'm pleased with the skin I'm in (although I'd like to reduce the amount by several pounds). I'm not the girl I was, or the woman I will become, but for now, with the help of God and love and mercy and tenderness, I'm okay. Really. And thanks for asking.

On second thought, I am the Best at Something. Being me. Warts and all.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012

Apologetics

Depending on whom you ask, Christianity is either an impotent, dead religion or a frightening one. Jesus is either an anemic, namby pamby Sunday school hero with an insipid smile (“There, there, it will be alright one day.”) or an outraged avenger ready to turn to ashes everyone who sins.

The far right hasn’t done Christianity any favors in the United States. Christians have been lumped in, unmercifully, with the gay-hating, women-controlling, gun-toting racists, and I have to speak up and say: enough. Christians have enough baggage without all of that! We’re a mess, collectively, but we came by it honestly. Don’t blame us for hate or prejudice or bad fashion sense! Christians don’t hold the monopoly!

What is a Christian, bottom line? Aside from Westernization. Aside from politicization. Aside from denominationalizing. Take Christianity to its simplest terms, and what do you have? I submit to you, that you have nothing to fear at all. Nothing to hate. Nothing to despise or legislate against. Nothing to be intimidated by. Take away a Nativity scene on city property, and you only underscore the fact that it DOES mean something.

Christians started being called Christians in the 1^st century. Christians, as in “little Christs.” People who followed Jesus of Nazareth, a.k.a.  the Christ, the Son of God, the Messiah. He was, he said, God born of the flesh. He performed miracles. He taught tolerance, forgiveness, love, service, outreach. Scary, eh? Only to those who want to be intolerant, hateful, selfish, and exclusive.

Jesus taught that belief wasn’t enough. He asked people to follow. It wasn’t enough to think he had good ideas, not enough to acknowledge that he knew what he was talking about. Not enough to say he was a prophet or a good teacher. Put it in practice. Give the words your hands and feet and mouth. Anyone can say they believe, but will they follow? Historically, only a small percentage do. And they do it horribly. I say this from experience.

The problem with religion, any religion, is that the name and the practice can be far removed, but constantly united in perception. You’re a Buddhist, and I know what Buddha taught. If you say you’re a Buddhist, I may decide you’re a bad one, if you don’t adhere perfectly to Buddha’s teachings…or I may make the leap so many make and decide that Buddhism’s bad because YOU are.

That old saying, that bumper sticker of a saying, is actually true:  Christians aren’t perfect, they’re just forgiven. Forgiveness is the crux of the matter. Christians believe that Jesus Christ, perfect man and God-made-flesh, died in place of all others, past, present, future. God bled for our collective sins, thus perfectly paying the penalty. We believe that, and rejoice that when we sin (which we do, all of us, with alarming regularity and varying degree) we have an advocate with the Father, the Creator form of God, the punisher. When we sin, Jesus steps up and says, “Wait…I already paid the penalty for that, remember?” and our lives are spared, eternally-speaking.

It’s not a license to sin, but when we do, we believe that there is forgiveness available. And because we have this wonderful news that we can be reconciled to God, that we don’t have to feel guilty and miserable in our wrong-doing any longer, we like to talk about it.

Which would be great, if that’s all we talked about. Unfortunately, over the years, Christians have become more comfortable butting into everyone’s business. It’s not enough to try and manage my own sexual temptations – I need to address yours! It’s not good enough to simply try and follow the teachings of Jesus; I need to tell you what is wrong with your life instead!

And so, there is a misconception, which is the fault of Christians, in my opinion. It’s unavoidable, given that every Christian is a sinful, wretched excuse for humanity living in a world of other non-Christian sinful, wretched excuses for humanity. People need the true message of Christ, the reconciliation available by simple belief and commitment. But the message has deteriorated into something different.

Biblically, Christians will be increasingly despised, until people will actually think they are doing God’s will to kill Christians (John 16:2), substantially more serious that prohibiting prayer at school or nativity scenes at Christmas. Hopefully we’re a few centuries away from that, but if we think, even for one moment, that it can’t happen? That it won’t happen? The only way to put off such a mindset would be a return to the basic teachings of the Gospel. Forget the Tea Party. Forget Pat Robertson. Forget misogynist racists who wouldn’t recognize an act of grace and mercy if it sat on their faces.

Jesus. He was either who he said he was, or he was a scam artist. There’s no middle ground. If you don’t believe, but seek real Truth, have the backbone to dig deeper. If he’s God, follow him. If he isn’t, find someone else who shares the same decency and holiness he preached. Stop the hatred and intolerance. For God’s sake. And your own.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012

Permission to reprint with acknowledgment of source.

Value

I was at a large Orlando mall over the weekend, the kind that has top end stores catering to the wealthy, or at least to those who behave as though they are. People like me can often find affordable bargains when there's a good sale in such stores, or discover small items that stay in the single or double digit price range. But then there are the $500 shoes, the $250 purses.

I know, I know. I am underscoring my middle-classedness by regarding these as outrageously expensive. At the top of the food chain, there are folks who might turn up their noses at such prices as proof of lower quality. For them, it's the Christian Louboutins for $6k or nothing.

As if.

Maybe at some point it is relative... you make $100,000 a year, and buy more expensive gifts but still at about the same percentage as someone who makes $30,000. I don't know. All I know is that this year, Christmas will be on a diet.

Which brings me back to the question of pricey items. Are shoes that cost more than I will make substitute teaching this year that much more comfortable? I think not. Comfort is probably a low priority when you slip on a pair of  high-dollar stilettos. It's all about the designer... but if your friends don't recognize Louboutins as Louboutins, the magic is lost.

A friend of mine recently attended an event in North Dakota, where the Bakkan oil fields have turned hand-to-mouth farmers into overnight upper class elite. $65,000 a month for oil rights. My friend said he happened to talk to the local Chevy dealer and commented that he bet the guy was selling a lot of new trucks. "Mostly Corvettes," the man replied. "We're the national top seller."

A few years ago, buying a new truck would be a big deal to folks who now have to have, have to drive, sportscars. Hmmm.

There was a vendor selling pocket knives. Diamond-studded pocket knives. Thousands of dollars for something that not only no one needs, but can hardly be used for the purpose for which it was manufactured. Pocket knives cut things, whittle, open things, peel apples, for heaven's sake. Would you risk popping off a diamond to cut a good stick for marshmallow roast? Who even wants one? People who have so much money all of a sudden that they feel they have to spend it. Novelty items. It's just money. Well, how about saving it? Or giving some away? Helping someone out?

Obviously, if you've made a lot of money, it's yours to do with as you please. Not my place to judge or question, but I do wonder if getting rich quick tends to tinker with one's sense of value. Value is, in a nutshell, what someone's willing to pay for something. It may be worth a million dollars to one person, not a thin dime to another. Value is subjective. You might spend $3000 for a pair of shoes or for a fancy pocket knife. I'd rather find something more in the $20 range ... or better yet, someone's cast-off $20 shoes at Goodwill for $3.99. Or at a yard sale for a buck.

I heard a teacher speak of human life one time, saying that God values us so much that the death of Jesus in our collective place was the only fitting ransom. A person will give his or her life to save a loved one, perhaps... not so quickly for a stranger, unless we're talking true heroism. To save the life of a scoundrel? A murderer? Our enemy? The world's better off without them! But we are all scoundrels to one degree or another, and yet highly valued by our Creator. He wasted Jesus's life on us, and yet it wasn't a waste at all, not in his eyes. He values us that much.

What we value, we sacrifice for. Countries that value education pay teachers better than those that do not. That just makes sense. People who value freedom appreciate those who fight for it, or they enlist themselves.

Which fits today, because this is Veteran's Day. I have brothers-in-law who are veterans, my father and father-in-law, a daughter, loved ones, friends and neighbors, all veterans. I am so thankful that they are recipients of honor on Veteran's Day and not Memorial Day. So thankful they survived their time as Marines or in the Army, Navy, Air Force, so thankful for their choice to serve our country. I value their commitment and I value them. Our nation values the military, and should, for without it we wouldn't have a nation to begin with.

I've gone all over the place, Christmas shopping and whining about overpriced trinkets and Jesus and veterans, but so what? That's the point of a blog called "For What it's Worth"... to some, these rambling words aren't worth much and to others, they are. All a matter of perspective. A matter of what you happen to value, but I'd leave you with this thought:  Who loves you so much that no distance is too far to travel to be with you, that any time away from you is too long? Who would die for you, but even more than that, who would live for you?

In other words, who values you? To whom are you a precious treasure? And who is a precious treasure to you? Have you told them lately? That's so much more important than finding the right gift for them at the mall, at any price.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012