We knew from the moment we saw him that he's attract any breathing human within visual distance.
Magnetism.
Booger's wimpers faded underneath the orange scented rubber mask. The little brown eyes fluttered shut and rolled back into his head. Then they escorted me out.
The fuzzy little head is being imaged by an MRI as I type from The Children's Hospital cafeteria area. Why sit in a boring waiting room for a few hours when I can sit where there's food, coffee and daylight?
No worries - I have one of those restaurant buzzers in my pocket to beckon me back to radiology.
Am I freaked out?
Nah.
I've had several MRIs on my curly big head, and one a few weeks back on my knee. I know what it's like to go "under" with general anesthesia, and will be doing so come June.
Hospitals used to freak me out. Needles especially.
Now I'm used to it. Doesn't mean I like it, but it's not scary. Hopefully my calm demeanor will assure Kyle he's in good hands and everything will be okay.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Anyone got a shovel to scrape me off the floor?
What was I thinking?
I haven't ridden a bike, let alone worked out (I mean something more challanging than a 3 mile leisure walk) since September.
The longest ride I went on last year was 16 miles (with a Booger in tow).
Assuming... well, you know the cliche... left me feeling like a spaghetti noodle left in boiling water for three hours!
Last night, I joined a womens' riding group (free!) that bases out of the new Treads bike shop in Lakewood, CO (NE of the Wads & Hampden intersection). The original plan made by Pam, the leader and Treads employee was to do about 16 miles - a route I did last year w/ the Booger in tow.
Pam is from Florida which means she's used to biking year-round. She's in great shape.
Then Julie shows up. Julie has been a volunteer for Bike America (? I think that's the name) and does rides such as the infamous Triple Bipass. The TB is a loooonnnnngggg ride over Squaw Pass, Loveland Pass and Vail Pass. Basically Evergreen to Vail the hard way. A way that would stress most cars!
Hard Core biker babes + me.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep up for the first 6 miles uphill. Well, I guess the fact that the Booger disconnected my front brake pads and they were squeezing the rim contributed to my slowness.
They whipped my sorry butt up Mount Carbon in Bear Creek Lake Park, I knew they would. I even told them not to feel bad if they wanted to blaze on ahead and leave me behind. I was on my home turf.
Pam doesn't like to drop riders b/c it's all about having fun and the mere DOING the ride that matters. So, at the top, Julie suggested we drop down the SW side of the mountain, loop through the park and take Morrison Road to Kipling where we'd pick up the trail once more.
I think I grunted. What the heck? I did much better than I expected. Aside from the potty break at the top of Carbon, I didn't stop at all for a rest.
32 miles. No-shape me rode 32 miles. I was amazed. Didn't know I could do such a thing so early!
Of course, I've never really ridden with others before - especially others way above my level. Subconsciously, I was motivated to keep going. They never got too far away and even complimented me all over the place. (I must admit I had them on the downhills - LOVE speed!)
When I'm by myself, I allow the fatigue and heavy breathing to get the best of me. I tend not to push through the muscle burn. It hurts (not in an injurous way) and I pull back or turn around. Pushing limits is what makes us grow. Why is that so hard to do alone?
I'm so jazzed up about riding (plus, my PT said I need to ride as much as possible before my surgery to build up my leg muscles) I plan to join Pam et al on Wednesday nights at 6 PM. That way I'm committed to ride hard once each week, and can build up on my own during the week.
Riding is the only physical activity I can do that doesn't inflame my torn cartalige.
PT lady assured me, the stronger I can build my leg up now, the quicker my recovery. We're talking days vs. months. If I put in all the work now, I may be able to climb through my beloved Rickett's Glenn two weeks after surgery when I go to PA.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
I went to jail yesterday.
Adams County Detention Facility loomed large and beige before me as the vehicle parked in the spiral shadows of barbed wire and high-tech cameras.
All of my belongings were "put away" for safe keeping. Including my identity (driver's license). I passed through the metal detector, me, myself, God, and a few other friendly folks. I nearly had a "Praise-ya-Jesus!" moment when my underwire failed to trigger the alarms.
God is in jail.
Psalm 42, the vocal ensemble my hubby and I joined, did three concerts in the lock-down. Two were for male prisoners escorted to a small empty room with the worlds most uncomfortable plastic chairs.
I was feeling anxious already, having passed through those mechanical doors that clank open, then slam shut with a bone-bumping echo. I couldn't escape if I wanted to! I felt trapped, and I knew I'd be going home in a few hours...
Those dudes were SCARY looking. An older with silver hair and faded tattoos sat cross-legged in the front row staring these "nice people who came to sing some songs" down. Deep lines carved canyons across his forehead. He sat front and center.
When the music began, his eyes shifted from upper left to upper right as if he dared himself not to look at us or get engaged with God as the gang-bangers and bank robbers around him raised their hands praising Jesus.
I stood in the very back of PS42, next to John, my back pressed against the cold concrete block wall. Do I make eye contact with these dudes or do I do the stage thing and let my eyes go blurry as if I'm gazing into another world? Never having done this before, I didn't want to send the wrong message or get myself mugged in the hall.
But God rained down on us all in spite of ourselves. I allowed myself to surrender to the music and share with these men, the gift of my voice along with the other PS42 members. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the room. Hardened criminals wept, prayed, sang and even danced a little, expressing love for Christ. Chaplin Micheal fired them up even more, calling them to account for their 7 week exercise in prayer and fasting. They eagerly recounted their time spent in Scripture over the week. When asked if they all belonged to Jesus, all men responded with resounding yesses.
I think I saw CHURCH for the first time.
Sure, there are probably a few posers hoping for early parole b/c of good behavior, but even they were moved by the Holy Spirit. Even the dude in the front row. He shook our hands and thanked us in a whisper on the way out of the room.
The hairs on our necks stood as if we were on top of a 14er in a lightning storm. Members of our group shot up spontaneous prayers for the next group. We were surrounded by the True Presence, the Almighty God (top that, Oprah and Eckhart!)
Men in white and yellow striped flooded into the room. They kept coming and coming...
Plastic chairs scraped the tile floor as they invaded each other's body space to make room.
Chaplin Micheal shoved his way through the men shouting, "This is incredible! The guys from the last group ran around the pod demanding everyone drop what they are doing and come to church! Incredible! They're all coming!" he bounced up and down on his toes, hands clasped to his chest.
If the previous service was CHURCH, the second one was CHURCH x CHURCH. Skeptical masks melted in mere moments. Young men with gang tattoos emblazoned on their chests, hugged their Bibles and cried out to Jesus b/c He is all they have. These men clapped, danced, hummed a bit and let loose. At the end, when the preacher gave the invite, no one moved. A young man, looked no older than 20, trembled. A huge bald guy next to him pulled him up and yelled out, "This brother wants to be baptized in the Holy Spirit! They pushed their way to the edge of the room. Young dude fell to his knees, begging Jesus to change his life.
Psalm 42 became Snot 42.
God wasn't done yet. And we had no clue.
The chaplains somehow achieved the unachievable by getting us access to one of the women's pods. They didn't come to us, we went to them. More big metal doors, guys with guns, and shouts of "Stay in Line".
It was a big room with cubicle-like cells all along the periferey. A dozen or so women in stripes sat at tables eating or in conversation. Another fifty or so sat stone-faced in those World's Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs. Arms crossed over their chests. Eyebrows furrowed. Mouths in deep frowns. "This is gonna suck." I thought as we shuffled around the little CD player (can't bring sound equipment in, could be used as a weapon. Death by Mic.)
Prison women scare prison men.
We were under a very tight time restriction to get in and get'er done. No time to pray, or prep. Our director hit 'play' and we started to sing. Halfway through, the women sat stone-faced. I imagined ice-vapors streaming from their nostrils. Okay, God, this really does suck!
Before our last song, Linda, one of our members stepped forward and preached. She begged the girls to open their hearts and just give Jesus a chance. We sang "I'm forgiven, because You were forsaken. I'm accepted. You were condemmned. I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me, because You died and rose again."
Amazing love.
We weren't two measures into the song before those faces melted like wax in front of a hot, hot fire. Heads swayed, hands raised, then when Chaplin Micheal gave the invite, 16 women dropped to their knees, crying out in loud voices to Jesus Christ!"
We didn't have time to be stunned b/c we were being ushered out (by people with guns).
In the hallway, Linda started singing "All for Jesus." I joined her. We got busted. No singing in prison hallways. Big Brother doesn't like it. So we whisper-sang and skipped. Others followed our guide, wiping tears off their cheeks.
17 people joined the family of Christ.
Someone doesn't like that. Please, please pray for Psalm 42. Satan tries to debilitate us in many ways so we can't or won't to and sing. 'Cuz there's revival behind bars!
Want more? Read Susie's blog!
That little stink pot beat me to posting!
All of my belongings were "put away" for safe keeping. Including my identity (driver's license). I passed through the metal detector, me, myself, God, and a few other friendly folks. I nearly had a "Praise-ya-Jesus!" moment when my underwire failed to trigger the alarms.
God is in jail.
Psalm 42, the vocal ensemble my hubby and I joined, did three concerts in the lock-down. Two were for male prisoners escorted to a small empty room with the worlds most uncomfortable plastic chairs.
I was feeling anxious already, having passed through those mechanical doors that clank open, then slam shut with a bone-bumping echo. I couldn't escape if I wanted to! I felt trapped, and I knew I'd be going home in a few hours...
Those dudes were SCARY looking. An older with silver hair and faded tattoos sat cross-legged in the front row staring these "nice people who came to sing some songs" down. Deep lines carved canyons across his forehead. He sat front and center.
When the music began, his eyes shifted from upper left to upper right as if he dared himself not to look at us or get engaged with God as the gang-bangers and bank robbers around him raised their hands praising Jesus.
I stood in the very back of PS42, next to John, my back pressed against the cold concrete block wall. Do I make eye contact with these dudes or do I do the stage thing and let my eyes go blurry as if I'm gazing into another world? Never having done this before, I didn't want to send the wrong message or get myself mugged in the hall.
But God rained down on us all in spite of ourselves. I allowed myself to surrender to the music and share with these men, the gift of my voice along with the other PS42 members. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the room. Hardened criminals wept, prayed, sang and even danced a little, expressing love for Christ. Chaplin Micheal fired them up even more, calling them to account for their 7 week exercise in prayer and fasting. They eagerly recounted their time spent in Scripture over the week. When asked if they all belonged to Jesus, all men responded with resounding yesses.
I think I saw CHURCH for the first time.
Sure, there are probably a few posers hoping for early parole b/c of good behavior, but even they were moved by the Holy Spirit. Even the dude in the front row. He shook our hands and thanked us in a whisper on the way out of the room.
The hairs on our necks stood as if we were on top of a 14er in a lightning storm. Members of our group shot up spontaneous prayers for the next group. We were surrounded by the True Presence, the Almighty God (top that, Oprah and Eckhart!)
Men in white and yellow striped flooded into the room. They kept coming and coming...
Plastic chairs scraped the tile floor as they invaded each other's body space to make room.
Chaplin Micheal shoved his way through the men shouting, "This is incredible! The guys from the last group ran around the pod demanding everyone drop what they are doing and come to church! Incredible! They're all coming!" he bounced up and down on his toes, hands clasped to his chest.
If the previous service was CHURCH, the second one was CHURCH x CHURCH. Skeptical masks melted in mere moments. Young men with gang tattoos emblazoned on their chests, hugged their Bibles and cried out to Jesus b/c He is all they have. These men clapped, danced, hummed a bit and let loose. At the end, when the preacher gave the invite, no one moved. A young man, looked no older than 20, trembled. A huge bald guy next to him pulled him up and yelled out, "This brother wants to be baptized in the Holy Spirit! They pushed their way to the edge of the room. Young dude fell to his knees, begging Jesus to change his life.
Psalm 42 became Snot 42.
God wasn't done yet. And we had no clue.
The chaplains somehow achieved the unachievable by getting us access to one of the women's pods. They didn't come to us, we went to them. More big metal doors, guys with guns, and shouts of "Stay in Line".
It was a big room with cubicle-like cells all along the periferey. A dozen or so women in stripes sat at tables eating or in conversation. Another fifty or so sat stone-faced in those World's Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs. Arms crossed over their chests. Eyebrows furrowed. Mouths in deep frowns. "This is gonna suck." I thought as we shuffled around the little CD player (can't bring sound equipment in, could be used as a weapon. Death by Mic.)
Prison women scare prison men.
We were under a very tight time restriction to get in and get'er done. No time to pray, or prep. Our director hit 'play' and we started to sing. Halfway through, the women sat stone-faced. I imagined ice-vapors streaming from their nostrils. Okay, God, this really does suck!
Before our last song, Linda, one of our members stepped forward and preached. She begged the girls to open their hearts and just give Jesus a chance. We sang "I'm forgiven, because You were forsaken. I'm accepted. You were condemmned. I'm alive and well, Your spirit is within me, because You died and rose again."
Amazing love.
We weren't two measures into the song before those faces melted like wax in front of a hot, hot fire. Heads swayed, hands raised, then when Chaplin Micheal gave the invite, 16 women dropped to their knees, crying out in loud voices to Jesus Christ!"
We didn't have time to be stunned b/c we were being ushered out (by people with guns).
In the hallway, Linda started singing "All for Jesus." I joined her. We got busted. No singing in prison hallways. Big Brother doesn't like it. So we whisper-sang and skipped. Others followed our guide, wiping tears off their cheeks.
17 people joined the family of Christ.
Someone doesn't like that. Please, please pray for Psalm 42. Satan tries to debilitate us in many ways so we can't or won't to and sing. 'Cuz there's revival behind bars!
Want more? Read Susie's blog!
That little stink pot beat me to posting!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
A Rabble Rousing Writer's Take On Tolle
I did it. I finished Eckhart Tolle's book, A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose.
Reading Tolle's prose is like digging through the stuff in a barn, occupied by the most "productive" animals, that hasn't been cleaned in three months.
I'm gonna bite this analysis task off in small chunks.
Tens, if not hundreds of millions of people around the world are being swept into this tsunami of Neo-New Ageism.
First, let me address the book for what it is. Ignore content for now.
Editors are adamant about writing tight - less is more, clarity the goal.
Clarity is nowhere to be found. Oprah claims she had to read the book three to five pages at a time because the content is so deep, meaningful, meaty. I had to read the book three to five pages at a time searching for the content!
Run-on sentences not seen since Dicken's tomes hit the press, populate the pages. By the time a reader finishes the sentence (a.k.a. complete thought) he forgets what the sentence was about in the first place. Fair use copyright laws only allow 250 consecutive words for a quote, therefore I have to be careful and count words before I quote.
But for the curious, here's one (under 250 fair-use words):
If you are alert enough, you may be able to detect some of these unconscious patterns within yourself: demanding recognition for something you did and getting angry or upset if you didn't get it; trying to get attention by talking about your problems, the story of your illness, or making a scene; giving your opinion when nobody has asked for it and makes no difference to the situation; being more concerned with how the other person seesyou than with the other person, which is to say, using other people for egoic reflection or as ego enhancers; tyring to make an impression on others through possessions, knowledge, good looks, status, physical strength, and so on; bringing about the temporary ego inflation through angry reaction against something or someone; taking things personally, feeling offfended; making yourself right and others wrong through futile mental or verbal complaining; wanting to be seen, or to appear important (p.254, 255).
150. Words.
Will Tolle's copy and line editors please stand and take a bow?
For me, as an educated person who happens to be a professional writer, blatant abuse of language structure kills credibility. Especially someone pedaled by Oprah. Most every page has incoherent, redundant sentences. The book as a whole is redundantly redundant. Tolle only needs a paragraph to share his ideology. Instead, he uses 309 pages to say the same thing over and over and over. That's a lot of dead trees. Which is in contrast to his beliefs (for another day).
New Earth is not published by a major house... wait! Let me take that back. In teeny-tiny print, Penguin books shows up as the web reference under the imprint of Plume Books. Click onto Pengin USA's page, and the banner is Oprah holding Tolle's book. Oh, I'd be so embarassed if I were them!
Penguin handles some killer writers - the best in their genres such as Ken Follet, Patricia Cornwell, Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler, Judy Blume, Eric Carl, Roald Dahl...
What an insult to those well-studied artists to print prose that wouldn't make it past the keen eye of a fourth grade teacher.
It's all about the bottom line. The writing may suck dirty pond water through a very large straw, but Oprah likes Tolle. If Oprah likes you, you become a best-seller dominating all the lists. You make gazillions of dollars, euros and yen for the parent publishing house.
Thus, the second sad truth: it's who ya know.
Next post I'll talk about how the very existence (form) of Tolle's book contradicts his world view. No, I'm not kidding.
Reading Tolle's prose is like digging through the stuff in a barn, occupied by the most "productive" animals, that hasn't been cleaned in three months.
I'm gonna bite this analysis task off in small chunks.
Tens, if not hundreds of millions of people around the world are being swept into this tsunami of Neo-New Ageism.
First, let me address the book for what it is. Ignore content for now.
Editors are adamant about writing tight - less is more, clarity the goal.
Clarity is nowhere to be found. Oprah claims she had to read the book three to five pages at a time because the content is so deep, meaningful, meaty. I had to read the book three to five pages at a time searching for the content!
Run-on sentences not seen since Dicken's tomes hit the press, populate the pages. By the time a reader finishes the sentence (a.k.a. complete thought) he forgets what the sentence was about in the first place. Fair use copyright laws only allow 250 consecutive words for a quote, therefore I have to be careful and count words before I quote.
But for the curious, here's one (under 250 fair-use words):
If you are alert enough, you may be able to detect some of these unconscious patterns within yourself: demanding recognition for something you did and getting angry or upset if you didn't get it; trying to get attention by talking about your problems, the story of your illness, or making a scene; giving your opinion when nobody has asked for it and makes no difference to the situation; being more concerned with how the other person seesyou than with the other person, which is to say, using other people for egoic reflection or as ego enhancers; tyring to make an impression on others through possessions, knowledge, good looks, status, physical strength, and so on; bringing about the temporary ego inflation through angry reaction against something or someone; taking things personally, feeling offfended; making yourself right and others wrong through futile mental or verbal complaining; wanting to be seen, or to appear important (p.254, 255).
150. Words.
Will Tolle's copy and line editors please stand and take a bow?
For me, as an educated person who happens to be a professional writer, blatant abuse of language structure kills credibility. Especially someone pedaled by Oprah. Most every page has incoherent, redundant sentences. The book as a whole is redundantly redundant. Tolle only needs a paragraph to share his ideology. Instead, he uses 309 pages to say the same thing over and over and over. That's a lot of dead trees. Which is in contrast to his beliefs (for another day).
New Earth is not published by a major house... wait! Let me take that back. In teeny-tiny print, Penguin books shows up as the web reference under the imprint of Plume Books. Click onto Pengin USA's page, and the banner is Oprah holding Tolle's book. Oh, I'd be so embarassed if I were them!
Penguin handles some killer writers - the best in their genres such as Ken Follet, Patricia Cornwell, Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler, Judy Blume, Eric Carl, Roald Dahl...
What an insult to those well-studied artists to print prose that wouldn't make it past the keen eye of a fourth grade teacher.
It's all about the bottom line. The writing may suck dirty pond water through a very large straw, but Oprah likes Tolle. If Oprah likes you, you become a best-seller dominating all the lists. You make gazillions of dollars, euros and yen for the parent publishing house.
Thus, the second sad truth: it's who ya know.
Next post I'll talk about how the very existence (form) of Tolle's book contradicts his world view. No, I'm not kidding.
Monday, April 14, 2008
God is on the move - hasn't He always been?
Amidst all the concern over the blanket of false teaching that is billowing over the whole world via the internet and Oprah, people are seeking and finding the truth.
In considerable numbers and odd places like Boulder, CO.
Less than a month ago, I finally surrendered to God's call into a new realm of ministry. For years, I refused to give in b/c I was content where I was. I'd been attending the same Community Bible Study group for eight years. Deep study of the scripture and the relationships were and still are of high value to me. Why change?
God is using the Big D (depression) to rebuild my ruins. I committed to following His plan vs. mine earlier this year.
I let go of my "blankie" and stepped into Psalm 42 - a vocal/ministry ensemble that operates out of Green Mountain Christian Church in Lakewood, CO. One of my bffs, Susie, has been on my case to join for - oh - five years or so.
Two weeks into this new adventure (and only 2 rehearsals) the group was asked to sing at a memorial service in Boulder. The People's Republic of Boulder, Land of Fruits and Nuts. My apologies to the normal folk who live in that gorgeous place. I'd live there if I could afford it...
Anyway, Boulder is known as Berkley East. Some of the most liberal, immoral ideology eminates from that place.
The woman we memorialized was the sister of a Psalm 42 member. This sister who died, lived in the mental health system. She suffered from paranoid schitzophrenia. The family prayed for her salvation for decades. It wasn't until after her death, the evidence of her salvation revealed itself. This woman, deemed crazy by society, led people to the saving grace of Jesus. Contrary to popular thought, Jesus was able to make sense to her in the delusions of her mind. He got past the illness to the heart of the person.
On the drive up highway 93, we knew God was gonna do something big. I was on crutches, another member of the group blew out a disc in her back and was doped on prescription pain pills, and others had serious trouble slam into their families.
As we sang, the Holy Spirit filled the room. It was overwhelming! Pain and trials were forgotten as we tried to sing through tears of Joy from our Savior's presence. When the pastor gave the salvation message, people responded! Person after person after person - in Boulder!
Aside from the immediate family, many of the folks there were mental patients and mental health workers invovled with the woman who passed. NINE people recieved Christ and since have followed up on their commitment though Hope Boulder, the tiny church that held the memorial.
A few weeks earlier, the same weekend the Big Stink happened at MOPS b/c of my Dark Side of Christianity post, Susie had me tag along w/ Psalm 42 to the Mount View juvenile detention facility. I didn't want to go. At that point, I didn't want to join the group b/c I was tired. Wasn't I in the process of clearing my plate of Things To Do?
Half the group was sick, none of the men could sing. Ps 42 was hurtin' for voices, but that didn't matter to the incarcerated teens. The quality of music wasn't great either, that day. But, NINE kids responded to Jesus b/c of the testimony and song of this group. They responded to Susie as she belted out "Shakles" - a Mandisa tune.
In that moment I knew. I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the sound guy and bawled. This is for you. God whispered.
Yesterday, Psalm 42 sang at the Adams County Prison. John and I couldn't go b/c the prison only allowed 8 people in. Susie and Kendall stopped by our house on the way home to tell us all about it. They said God's presence was even more powerful in that max security place than in Boulder. Lives were changed, faith exploded. Prisoners and singers were blessed through three back-to-back concerts.
This coming Saturday, John and I will be part of the group that goes to the prison for the rest of the inmates (they only allow 25 in a room at a time for safety reasons). We can't wait!
But, with ministry comes attack. It's a war. Bad things happen to Ps 42 members - things that should make us bow out of a concert. You know a ministrie's power by the suffering its servants endure.
The director of the group introduces us as broken people mended by Grace. In our group there are testimonies of drug use/abuse, abortion, prison, theft, depression, suicide, suicide attempts, broken marriages, sexual abuse victims, etc. A collection of folks many churchies would brush off as "soiled".
Pray for Ps 42 as we rehearse tonight. Pray for the three or four concerts we'll be doing at the prison. Pray protection over our members. A family was whacked last night by a massive injustice after they ministered. Pray for more opportunities to go into places where few ninistries dare tread. We're trying to get into the immigration prisons to share Christ with illegal aliens waiting for deportation. We're also trying to get into the mental health system to minister to the mentally ill. Pray for my husband's sister, Debbie. She's very much like the woman who died. Pray Jesus can cut through her fog and bring her Hope.
In considerable numbers and odd places like Boulder, CO.
Less than a month ago, I finally surrendered to God's call into a new realm of ministry. For years, I refused to give in b/c I was content where I was. I'd been attending the same Community Bible Study group for eight years. Deep study of the scripture and the relationships were and still are of high value to me. Why change?
God is using the Big D (depression) to rebuild my ruins. I committed to following His plan vs. mine earlier this year.
I let go of my "blankie" and stepped into Psalm 42 - a vocal/ministry ensemble that operates out of Green Mountain Christian Church in Lakewood, CO. One of my bffs, Susie, has been on my case to join for - oh - five years or so.
Two weeks into this new adventure (and only 2 rehearsals) the group was asked to sing at a memorial service in Boulder. The People's Republic of Boulder, Land of Fruits and Nuts. My apologies to the normal folk who live in that gorgeous place. I'd live there if I could afford it...
Anyway, Boulder is known as Berkley East. Some of the most liberal, immoral ideology eminates from that place.
The woman we memorialized was the sister of a Psalm 42 member. This sister who died, lived in the mental health system. She suffered from paranoid schitzophrenia. The family prayed for her salvation for decades. It wasn't until after her death, the evidence of her salvation revealed itself. This woman, deemed crazy by society, led people to the saving grace of Jesus. Contrary to popular thought, Jesus was able to make sense to her in the delusions of her mind. He got past the illness to the heart of the person.
On the drive up highway 93, we knew God was gonna do something big. I was on crutches, another member of the group blew out a disc in her back and was doped on prescription pain pills, and others had serious trouble slam into their families.
As we sang, the Holy Spirit filled the room. It was overwhelming! Pain and trials were forgotten as we tried to sing through tears of Joy from our Savior's presence. When the pastor gave the salvation message, people responded! Person after person after person - in Boulder!
Aside from the immediate family, many of the folks there were mental patients and mental health workers invovled with the woman who passed. NINE people recieved Christ and since have followed up on their commitment though Hope Boulder, the tiny church that held the memorial.
A few weeks earlier, the same weekend the Big Stink happened at MOPS b/c of my Dark Side of Christianity post, Susie had me tag along w/ Psalm 42 to the Mount View juvenile detention facility. I didn't want to go. At that point, I didn't want to join the group b/c I was tired. Wasn't I in the process of clearing my plate of Things To Do?
Half the group was sick, none of the men could sing. Ps 42 was hurtin' for voices, but that didn't matter to the incarcerated teens. The quality of music wasn't great either, that day. But, NINE kids responded to Jesus b/c of the testimony and song of this group. They responded to Susie as she belted out "Shakles" - a Mandisa tune.
In that moment I knew. I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the sound guy and bawled. This is for you. God whispered.
Yesterday, Psalm 42 sang at the Adams County Prison. John and I couldn't go b/c the prison only allowed 8 people in. Susie and Kendall stopped by our house on the way home to tell us all about it. They said God's presence was even more powerful in that max security place than in Boulder. Lives were changed, faith exploded. Prisoners and singers were blessed through three back-to-back concerts.
This coming Saturday, John and I will be part of the group that goes to the prison for the rest of the inmates (they only allow 25 in a room at a time for safety reasons). We can't wait!
But, with ministry comes attack. It's a war. Bad things happen to Ps 42 members - things that should make us bow out of a concert. You know a ministrie's power by the suffering its servants endure.
The director of the group introduces us as broken people mended by Grace. In our group there are testimonies of drug use/abuse, abortion, prison, theft, depression, suicide, suicide attempts, broken marriages, sexual abuse victims, etc. A collection of folks many churchies would brush off as "soiled".
Pray for Ps 42 as we rehearse tonight. Pray for the three or four concerts we'll be doing at the prison. Pray protection over our members. A family was whacked last night by a massive injustice after they ministered. Pray for more opportunities to go into places where few ninistries dare tread. We're trying to get into the immigration prisons to share Christ with illegal aliens waiting for deportation. We're also trying to get into the mental health system to minister to the mentally ill. Pray for my husband's sister, Debbie. She's very much like the woman who died. Pray Jesus can cut through her fog and bring her Hope.
Not alone in taking on the Big O
Check out my bbf Jan's post on the Tolle/Oprah movement! I'll link more posts on this topic. I'm about 3/4 of the way through the book, making it a priority to finish reading so I can write a plain old common sense response to this world view. Pray for me. This stuff is disturbing and downright funny at times.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
"It's not about the cross..." What? WHAT?
I was gonna write something funny about my MRI experience today, but when I got home, flipped on the TV in time to hear Oprah say that the purpose of Jesus is not the cross. She used to believe His purpose was to die on the cross for her sins, but now she knows (cuz she's Awake - notice the capital A)she realizes he was here to show us how to live in Presence. To be in Aware.
Again, she's having "religious" people get up and speak about how Tolle's A NEW EARTH doesn't conflict with "religion". Spiritual expert Elizabeth Lesser defines spirituality as the longing for something more. She claims religion grew up around this longing seeking fulfillment.
Again, while they are trying to use the name of Jesus in a nice way, they are stripping Him of His identity, His purpose. Jesus is God. Jesus is God. Jesus is God.
You can't embrace His teachings without accepting Him in full context. He didn't just come to die on the cross, true. He came to DEFEAT death. He came to leave behind an empty cross, come back to life after paying the ultimate price for our sin.
It's so easy to call Jesus a teacher, a prophet or even a wise guru if you don't believe in absolute truth or the authority of scripture. It makes me sad that the big O and Tolle are taking extra steps to convince or confuse followers of Christ.
Know your Bible. Sure, Tolle has some true ideas, some common sense psychological theories, but don't be fooled into releasing your belief in the deity of Christ. It's a slow subtle (and boring) process through the book. I'm still reading. Slowly. Not because there's so much to chew on, but because the writing is so bad, so ambiguous and dull, I struggle to remain engaged.
One more thing before I fall off my soapbox and hurt my other knee... (the MRI was on my left knee)...
Tolle doesn't believe in death - he beleives your energy lives on b/c there's no place for it to go. Form goes away and remember, form isn't real. Again, on what authority does he base this theory? If there is no death, then Jesus couldn't redeem us from our sins.
A NEW EARTH, on a deep level, goes against everything we as Christ Followers believe.
Again, she's having "religious" people get up and speak about how Tolle's A NEW EARTH doesn't conflict with "religion". Spiritual expert Elizabeth Lesser defines spirituality as the longing for something more. She claims religion grew up around this longing seeking fulfillment.
Again, while they are trying to use the name of Jesus in a nice way, they are stripping Him of His identity, His purpose. Jesus is God. Jesus is God. Jesus is God.
You can't embrace His teachings without accepting Him in full context. He didn't just come to die on the cross, true. He came to DEFEAT death. He came to leave behind an empty cross, come back to life after paying the ultimate price for our sin.
It's so easy to call Jesus a teacher, a prophet or even a wise guru if you don't believe in absolute truth or the authority of scripture. It makes me sad that the big O and Tolle are taking extra steps to convince or confuse followers of Christ.
Know your Bible. Sure, Tolle has some true ideas, some common sense psychological theories, but don't be fooled into releasing your belief in the deity of Christ. It's a slow subtle (and boring) process through the book. I'm still reading. Slowly. Not because there's so much to chew on, but because the writing is so bad, so ambiguous and dull, I struggle to remain engaged.
One more thing before I fall off my soapbox and hurt my other knee... (the MRI was on my left knee)...
Tolle doesn't believe in death - he beleives your energy lives on b/c there's no place for it to go. Form goes away and remember, form isn't real. Again, on what authority does he base this theory? If there is no death, then Jesus couldn't redeem us from our sins.
A NEW EARTH, on a deep level, goes against everything we as Christ Followers believe.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Celebrating Darcie - Posted by Susie Sims
If you had told me five years ago that I would one day consider Darcie Joy Gudger as one of my best friends I would have said that you were nuts. From a position of "outside looking in", to me she seemed a little weird, and downright annoying. Not that there was really anything wrong with her, mind you, she was just very different from me. She told EVERYBODY EVERYTHING that was going on in her life, she had kind of a funky sense of humor and would push a joke to the very limits, and she was HYPER. When she would worship she would practically dance around and jump the pews. (OK, so that’s a slight exaggeration.) Unlike me, who did not want anyone to know that I was going through tough stuff, not very witty (although I did have a similar sense of humor in that I found the same things funny as she).And I was pretty reserved and afraid of someone looking at me when I worshipped.
Then, a few years ago, I learned that her best friend was going to be moving to Ecuador and felt God pushing me to reach out to her. When I was a young adult, my best friend for life moved from Texas to Missouri and I was so lonely. I knew I could relate to her feelings of loss with Molly moving so far away, so I invited her to have dinner with me sometime. Little did I know that God was about to bless my socks off with what has become most recently one of the most important and precious relationships I have ever had.
Darcie is almost indescribable. There are so many layers to her personality it is hard to put into words all the things that make her wonderful. Things that I thought were "annoying" when I did not know her heart are the same things that endear me to her now.
Darcie is transparent. She is not afraid to let people see who she really is. It takes bravery of heroic measures to have the kind of transparency she has in letting people see her joys and her pains, her triumphs and her struggles. I admire her so much for that, even in seeing that even this has caused her pain as people fail to understand it and miss-judge her often – as I did.
Her talents are never-ending. She is an amazing writer, a beautiful singer, a wonderful mommy and wife, and one of the best friends anyone could ever hope for. I just recently learned she has some skills with a miter-saw, too. I’m definitely going to be calling on her for my home-improvement projects! She was even painting Kyle’s nursery with her right arm practically in traction so she had to use her left hand to wield the roller. That’s talent!
I love her sense of humor – she keeps me laughing. In fact, my best friend who had moved so far away so many years ago had basically the same kind of humor. We laughed the hardest at any kind of potty or bathroom humor, and Darcie just kills me with some of the stuff she uses for her euphemisms both in her writing and in conversations.
I love her generous heart. She is the kind of person that would give you anything she had if she thought you would receive a blessing from it.
I love her naiveté most of all I think. I’ll never forget being at a baby shower for a mutual friend before Kyle came into her life and seeing her pick up a bulb syringe and asking "what do you use this for?" It was especially funny because at the time I think she already knew Kyle was coming soon and that she herself would be a mom and using all those very same items she was asking questions about.
Growing up kind of sheltered from main-stream culture (not listening to secular music, not seeing movies because they were deemed "bad", etc.) has given her an almost childlike way of looking at everything. I can’t wait to "expose" her to some of the stuff I grew up with that she didn’t. Like some of my favorite 80’s movies that make me laugh till I cry and from which I quote so many lines. Just the other night I took over a copy of the musical/comedy "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" and she picked it up and asked if it was a porno flick. It was pretty funny. One year I had a karaoke birthday party for Kendall and she came but did not know any of the music (which was kind of a shame ‘cause this girl can SING!). It turned out kind of funny, though because I was sure she would at least know "Mr. Sandman" so I had her come up and try with me and another friend as a trio. Since she was not familiar with the lyrics, she would just randomly lean into the mic and go "BOM!". It was a riot! (I still have the DVD.) I plan on making her a CD of some fun music to listen to and take her to a karaoke club sometime soon.
I think her naiveté is what has given her such a child-like faith as well. Her faith is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. Yes, she gets discouraged. And yes, I have even heard her ponder that maybe God had turned his back on her. Yet, even in the darkness her faith stays true. She may clearly recognize when God is silent, but she never is. She continues to give Him glory for all that comes her way. Even in rough times, she never stops looking for the blessings that are hidden along the way. I admire this quality in her so much.
I am so blessed that God brought her into my life. She is a true treasure and I think we will always be friends. Thank you Darcie, for being such a rich addition to the tapestry that is my life. Happy Birthday, dear friend.
http://www.123glitter.com/comments-graphics/
Then, a few years ago, I learned that her best friend was going to be moving to Ecuador and felt God pushing me to reach out to her. When I was a young adult, my best friend for life moved from Texas to Missouri and I was so lonely. I knew I could relate to her feelings of loss with Molly moving so far away, so I invited her to have dinner with me sometime. Little did I know that God was about to bless my socks off with what has become most recently one of the most important and precious relationships I have ever had.
Darcie is almost indescribable. There are so many layers to her personality it is hard to put into words all the things that make her wonderful. Things that I thought were "annoying" when I did not know her heart are the same things that endear me to her now.
Darcie is transparent. She is not afraid to let people see who she really is. It takes bravery of heroic measures to have the kind of transparency she has in letting people see her joys and her pains, her triumphs and her struggles. I admire her so much for that, even in seeing that even this has caused her pain as people fail to understand it and miss-judge her often – as I did.
Her talents are never-ending. She is an amazing writer, a beautiful singer, a wonderful mommy and wife, and one of the best friends anyone could ever hope for. I just recently learned she has some skills with a miter-saw, too. I’m definitely going to be calling on her for my home-improvement projects! She was even painting Kyle’s nursery with her right arm practically in traction so she had to use her left hand to wield the roller. That’s talent!
I love her sense of humor – she keeps me laughing. In fact, my best friend who had moved so far away so many years ago had basically the same kind of humor. We laughed the hardest at any kind of potty or bathroom humor, and Darcie just kills me with some of the stuff she uses for her euphemisms both in her writing and in conversations.
I love her generous heart. She is the kind of person that would give you anything she had if she thought you would receive a blessing from it.
I love her naiveté most of all I think. I’ll never forget being at a baby shower for a mutual friend before Kyle came into her life and seeing her pick up a bulb syringe and asking "what do you use this for?" It was especially funny because at the time I think she already knew Kyle was coming soon and that she herself would be a mom and using all those very same items she was asking questions about.
Growing up kind of sheltered from main-stream culture (not listening to secular music, not seeing movies because they were deemed "bad", etc.) has given her an almost childlike way of looking at everything. I can’t wait to "expose" her to some of the stuff I grew up with that she didn’t. Like some of my favorite 80’s movies that make me laugh till I cry and from which I quote so many lines. Just the other night I took over a copy of the musical/comedy "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" and she picked it up and asked if it was a porno flick. It was pretty funny. One year I had a karaoke birthday party for Kendall and she came but did not know any of the music (which was kind of a shame ‘cause this girl can SING!). It turned out kind of funny, though because I was sure she would at least know "Mr. Sandman" so I had her come up and try with me and another friend as a trio. Since she was not familiar with the lyrics, she would just randomly lean into the mic and go "BOM!". It was a riot! (I still have the DVD.) I plan on making her a CD of some fun music to listen to and take her to a karaoke club sometime soon.
I think her naiveté is what has given her such a child-like faith as well. Her faith is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. Yes, she gets discouraged. And yes, I have even heard her ponder that maybe God had turned his back on her. Yet, even in the darkness her faith stays true. She may clearly recognize when God is silent, but she never is. She continues to give Him glory for all that comes her way. Even in rough times, she never stops looking for the blessings that are hidden along the way. I admire this quality in her so much.
I am so blessed that God brought her into my life. She is a true treasure and I think we will always be friends. Thank you Darcie, for being such a rich addition to the tapestry that is my life. Happy Birthday, dear friend.
http://www.123glitter.com/comments-graphics/
Friday, April 04, 2008
Blood x 3 and O! My knee
Monday afternoon after Kyle was home from his neurology appointment, while he was napping, I got a phone call. From Children's Hospital.
The lab didn't draw enough blood for the number of tests requested.
There was no way I was driving to Kansas during rush hour traffic that evening - besides, the lab closes at 5:30. Tuesday didn't work because I finally recovered from my short bout of stupidity and made an appointment for myself for my two-week old knee injury.
Chaos erupted Tuesday afternoon.
A trauma specialist physician's assistant ripped me a few new orfacies when I told him I fell down the stairs leading down to my living room two weeks ago. His head jerked back and he did say, "Run that by me again?"
Of all the hundred plus injuries I've had (either colorguard, sports or clumsiness caused), I'd never really hurt my knees beyond a slight tweaker. I mean, come on. You sprain your ankle (3rd degree sprain), go to the ER, they x-ray, tell you that your ankle is sprained, wrap it in an Ace, then tell you to RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate). ERs don't even give crutches anymore, you gotta go rent them at a pharmacy! Then, you get a monster bill in the mail.
I know how to treat a sprain. Actually, sometimes walking it out if it's not too painful can help heal an ankle faster. And when the great elbow debacle rocked my world, I was required to move that thing.
And I'm the mother of a two year old. Who has time to spend two hours at the clinic for some PA to tell you your knees is sprained. Just RICE and be careful.
Knees are weird joints (not much different than elbows, however not as complex). You hurt your knee, assume it's serious.
Two weeks of gimping around, trying to 'tough it out' created so much swelling, the soft tissue blurs made my X-ray hard to read. No fractures, but MAJOR soft tissue damage. Made much, much worse by my tromping around, soccer ball kicking, and toddler chasing. At the least, I tore my meniscus. I may have torn my medial lateral tendon.
In normal people language - that's bad. Very, very bad. Can we say S-U-R-G-E-R-Y?
Medical trauma nazi commanded me 48-72 hours of bed rest + RICE. No weight, no movement, no un-elevation except when nature called. Yeah. Right. He wouldn't even let me walk to X-ray or out of the building. A crotch to ankle brace made out of logs was strapped on, crutches shoved into my pits, and I was sent out the door to put myself in a vegetable state.
It's my left leg. My car is a stick shift. Oh, and I have a two-year old. Who needed to go back to Children's the following day to have his blood drawn - again.
In the parking lot, I shed the brace, tossed the crutches in the back seat and drove home. I wasn't gonna walk!
I've tried, I really have, to RICE as much as I can (about 1- 2 hours a day). I can't drive. Knee won't bend for me. John took time off on Wednesday to take Booger for blood draw #2. Two and a half hours later, he dropped the Boog off at home and went back to work. He wasn't gone five minutes before I got a phone call.
From Children's.
"Um, Mrs. G, we have bad news for you."
My heart thumped. What did they find? Did Boogie have some ebola-like disease? Did we all have it now?
"Uh, I used the wrong equipment for this particular test. I used a glass tube instead of a syringe. I need you to bring him right back so we can do it again."
"What? Do you realize we live an hour away? And I can't drive! I'm on crutches!"
"I'm really sorry."
"This is the second mistake the lab made."
"I'm really, really, sorry."
Thank God for church friends who are in my opinion, family. Kyle's adopted Colorado Grammie, had swung by to toss stuff in the Crock Pot. She offered to drive us both down there.
Little Booger was fine until Grammie lifted him onto the table. She held him down, I kissed away the tears and stroked the fuzzy little head and his screams filled the room (before any needles showed up). When the nurse pulled out the needle, and opened the Band-Aid, Kyle turned his head toward her and said, "Tankoo." The nurse's eyes welled up with tears.
She was new. Learning the ropes. I think it was her first day on the job solo. The hospital will reimburse us for all the gas and send Boogie another stuffed animal. I appreciate how quick they were to recognize and rectify.
Now, if I can only find a miracle cure for torn menisci (sp?)
The lab didn't draw enough blood for the number of tests requested.
There was no way I was driving to Kansas during rush hour traffic that evening - besides, the lab closes at 5:30. Tuesday didn't work because I finally recovered from my short bout of stupidity and made an appointment for myself for my two-week old knee injury.
Chaos erupted Tuesday afternoon.
A trauma specialist physician's assistant ripped me a few new orfacies when I told him I fell down the stairs leading down to my living room two weeks ago. His head jerked back and he did say, "Run that by me again?"
Of all the hundred plus injuries I've had (either colorguard, sports or clumsiness caused), I'd never really hurt my knees beyond a slight tweaker. I mean, come on. You sprain your ankle (3rd degree sprain), go to the ER, they x-ray, tell you that your ankle is sprained, wrap it in an Ace, then tell you to RICE (rest, ice, compress, elevate). ERs don't even give crutches anymore, you gotta go rent them at a pharmacy! Then, you get a monster bill in the mail.
I know how to treat a sprain. Actually, sometimes walking it out if it's not too painful can help heal an ankle faster. And when the great elbow debacle rocked my world, I was required to move that thing.
And I'm the mother of a two year old. Who has time to spend two hours at the clinic for some PA to tell you your knees is sprained. Just RICE and be careful.
Knees are weird joints (not much different than elbows, however not as complex). You hurt your knee, assume it's serious.
Two weeks of gimping around, trying to 'tough it out' created so much swelling, the soft tissue blurs made my X-ray hard to read. No fractures, but MAJOR soft tissue damage. Made much, much worse by my tromping around, soccer ball kicking, and toddler chasing. At the least, I tore my meniscus. I may have torn my medial lateral tendon.
In normal people language - that's bad. Very, very bad. Can we say S-U-R-G-E-R-Y?
Medical trauma nazi commanded me 48-72 hours of bed rest + RICE. No weight, no movement, no un-elevation except when nature called. Yeah. Right. He wouldn't even let me walk to X-ray or out of the building. A crotch to ankle brace made out of logs was strapped on, crutches shoved into my pits, and I was sent out the door to put myself in a vegetable state.
It's my left leg. My car is a stick shift. Oh, and I have a two-year old. Who needed to go back to Children's the following day to have his blood drawn - again.
In the parking lot, I shed the brace, tossed the crutches in the back seat and drove home. I wasn't gonna walk!
I've tried, I really have, to RICE as much as I can (about 1- 2 hours a day). I can't drive. Knee won't bend for me. John took time off on Wednesday to take Booger for blood draw #2. Two and a half hours later, he dropped the Boog off at home and went back to work. He wasn't gone five minutes before I got a phone call.
From Children's.
"Um, Mrs. G, we have bad news for you."
My heart thumped. What did they find? Did Boogie have some ebola-like disease? Did we all have it now?
"Uh, I used the wrong equipment for this particular test. I used a glass tube instead of a syringe. I need you to bring him right back so we can do it again."
"What? Do you realize we live an hour away? And I can't drive! I'm on crutches!"
"I'm really sorry."
"This is the second mistake the lab made."
"I'm really, really, sorry."
Thank God for church friends who are in my opinion, family. Kyle's adopted Colorado Grammie, had swung by to toss stuff in the Crock Pot. She offered to drive us both down there.
Little Booger was fine until Grammie lifted him onto the table. She held him down, I kissed away the tears and stroked the fuzzy little head and his screams filled the room (before any needles showed up). When the nurse pulled out the needle, and opened the Band-Aid, Kyle turned his head toward her and said, "Tankoo." The nurse's eyes welled up with tears.
She was new. Learning the ropes. I think it was her first day on the job solo. The hospital will reimburse us for all the gas and send Boogie another stuffed animal. I appreciate how quick they were to recognize and rectify.
Now, if I can only find a miracle cure for torn menisci (sp?)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)