How do you spell security?

http://bit.ly/wjpYRa

I’m fond of a movie called Akeelah and the Bee. It’s about an African-American 11-year-old growing up in innercity LA. She’s super-smart but shies away from academic achievement, focusing instead on the seemingly impossible goal of every girl her age: Fitting in. She gets into trouble for truancy. Her punishment is mandatory participation in the school spelling bee. To quote my blog from the other day (in a more positive and less controversial context): “She nailed it.” Without giving away the rest of the story, I’ll tell you that Akeelah discovers she can make friends and good grades. Her epiphany begins with the following admonishment toward greatness, presented to Akeelah by her spelling coach:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?—Marianne Williamson

I like this movie a lot, and I have frequently revisited these words in my mind. But today I decided I just don’t buy it—at least, not in this packaging. I think my deepest fear really is inadequacy, especially as a mother. As a mother who wants to manage the whole juggling act with grace and pluck and above-average creativity…and who falters spectacularly, on a regular basis, I sometimes want to: a) crawl in a hole, or b) bite someone’s head off. I usually settle for a minor rendition of either or both (e.g., take a nap and/or snap at someone…typically, one of my kids).

Full disclosure—the rest of the Williamson quotation goes like this:

You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.—MW

I do believe it is our human destiny “to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.” But I don’t believe that glory is simply there, without requesting it, welcoming it, safeguarding its presence, and nurturing its capacity to grow. That’s where I repeatedly fall short. I get hung up on the fact that I am inadequate, in and of myself, to ‘play big and shine brightly.’ I know the comfort and warmth of the hearth, but I too often choose to sit outside in a cold mud puddle.

The message of the gospel, as I understand and embrace it, is that God is eager, willing and waiting to inhabit our hearts and be our adequacy. We don’t have to be “all that”—truth is, we can’t be—but God gladly serves as our security, our strength, and the means through which we can ‘enlighten and liberate others’…or rather, testify to others about the availability and awesomeness of the anecdote for our inadequacy: Jesus, the Christ.

Can I get an A-M-E-N?

Patent pumps, perfect pjs, and dolls from a different era

A few scenes from our snow day...

Tonight was supposed to be the Annual Father-Daughter Dance. That was the main bummer of a cancellation for us. Here's Lucy's rendering of herself and her dad dancing. Good news: The event is rescheduled for next Friday!

Lucy unearthed a set of 1978 craft magazines from Great-Grandmother Bolton and made Mr. & Mrs. Sock Doll from instructions therein.

This guy stayed in his Star Wars pajamas all day...even when he went outside to play! He just put his snow suit on over Chewbacca and friends.

Showing off my new red patent leather pumps whilst coming in from the cold. Because doesn't everyone shop for shoes in a snowstorm? (I had seen these on the clearance rack at a local store last week. Passed them up then, but felt compelled to go get them when I remembered how well they would go with my red suit AND I had a coupon!)

Beyoncé Superbowl performance left me blushing...you?

http://nydn.us/XhYaFX

Here’s what I think: Beyoncé was beyond bad. And I don’t mean her singing. She’s a beautiful woman and a talented vocalist, but her bustier, bust-a-move performance at the Superbowl left me feeling frustrated with our culture’s salacious standards for prime-time programming.

Maybe you’re rolling your eyes, thinking this is just another prudish rant from an evangelical soccer mom. And maybe it is. But the show ended over an hour ago, and I’m still blushing. I didn’t want my husband watching that. I didn’t want my daughters watching that. And even though my son is still prepubescent, I didn’t want him watching it, either. He had left the room by halftime. Even though he wouldn’t have fully understood the innuendos of the choreography, I’m pretty sure he would have disapproved the half-naked gyrations going on on-screen. But could he have averted his eyes? I’m not sure. Did you?

What makes me mad is that I want to believe our country is nobler than that, too decent to allow burlesque fill the bill for family entertainment. We can do better, and we often do. So why not do better on the highest-rated evening of American television viewing?

What makes me sad is that this weekend tops the U.S. Attorney General’s charts for sex trafficking, a shameful exploitation of human rights that nobody in good conscience can publicly support. And yet, we support sexually explicit exhibitions such as Beyoncé and pals’. We leave our TVs tuned to the kind of display formerly reserved for bachelor parties, quietly leering at the leggy ladies like it’s our cultural duty to bear witness, lest we fail to perform at the water cooler tomorrow.

Shortly after the show, one of my friends (notably, a heterosexual male) posted a YouTube video of The Ohio State marching band, advocating for their employment on next year’s Superbowl stage. I applaud his notion, although I’m too worldly to think the idea will take hold. We’ve clearly crossed a line in our culture—oh, long ago, I know, I know.

But next year I, for one, will cross the line from my living room chair to my television’s off button. The purity of my family’s thoughts and the innocence of my children matters more to me than being in the know about what the Superbowl stars did—or didn’t—wear.

Wife of local journalist opposes Friday evening assignments

I don’t know who dislikes the Friday night shift more, Tom or me. I disliked it when I had to work it, and I dislike it even more with every passing annum. Nearly 15 years Tom’s been at this gig, The Daily News. Sixteen and a half years as a reporter, counting his stint at the Albion Advertiser weekly paper.

http://bit.ly/tQ92KV

I’m somewhat used to the unpredictability of the journalism life. News happens when it happens; politicians swoop into town on a few hours’ notice (and then usually end up running late); readers and sources call at all hours of the day or night (even on holidays…even if it’s unimportant); car accidents and fires don’t go by a schedule. I’ve said that being married to a reporter seems like being married to a firefighter who is also a pastor who is also an obstetrician — we never really know what Tom’s work hours will be, week to week, day to day, hour to hour. He’s just sort of always “on call.”

But even though I have grown about as go-with-the-flow as any spouse could be expected, I still can’t stand the Friday evenings at home without him. There’s something about Fridays that feels like cause for celebration, naturally designed for a hair-down, comfy-jeans, no-worries night on the town…or a happy dance in the living room, a bottle of bubbly (Diet Pepsi, of course), and a favorite movie as familiar as a pilly pair of red cashmere socks.

Instead, this Friday night absence sneaks up on us. Around Tuesday or Wednesday, Tom will say, “I think I might be the Friday night guy…” And something inside me writhes like a toddler whose partially eaten bag of cotton candy has been snatched away. “NO!” my inner child yelps in protest. “Don’t take away my Fun Friday!”

So here I sit while the kids banter, play and argue in the other room…tap-tap-typing this whine away with frozen fingers, lamenting another Friday night when the “freedom of the press” usurped my would-be revelry.

Light and love and Dr. King

I know I'm about a month late to the party, but for some reason, this Christmas-y snippet came to me today:

"Let your heart be light" © Holly DeWolf http://bit.ly/10nUkSu

Really?? I asked the snippet. How can I? Knowing what I know and struggling as I struggle...and knowing how others struggle—much, much more than I do... How can I possibly let my heart be light?

Just "let it be"... the snippet seemed to say ...in spite of everything that weighs on you, "lay your burdens down" and "let your heart be light." (My subconscious sometimes speaks to me in medleys.)

...not only eased of those burdens—your own and others'—but "let your heart be light," as in "let your little light shine."

Oh, what a little light mine is, I mused.

Better lift it up, then, replied the snippet—like those gravity lamps on Science Friday with Ira Flatow (http://n.pr/VxhYIm). (Yep, that's what the snippet said.) 

"Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.~Matthew 5:14-16, King James Version

...or, "Here’s another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven."~Matthew 5:14-16, The Message
  
Another famous figure said something significant about light—someone who knew much-too-much about suffering, struggling, who had many "sins and griefs to bear" for himself and the world, and yet—look here—even he let his heart be light:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness:

only light can do that.

Hate cannot drive out hate:

only love can do that.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

A-Typical sightings: A hot car, an exchange of flashes...hey, whatever it takes to see us through the dead of winter!

A Jaguar in Albion. Yep, really. Saw one yesterday, driven by an attractive young blonde woman. Cool, I thought. And then...

...she pulled into the McDonald's drive-thru! Such a disappointment.

*     *     *     *     *

Today at the drugstore, I saw a handsome, well-dressed, completely bald-headed man with beautiful teeth. Part Messr. Metro, part Mr. Clean. The reason I know he had beautiful teeth is that he flashed them at me in the checkout line. Granted, I flashed mine first. (My, this sounds racy...but it's not!)

"Did you win the lottery?" Metro Man asked me.

"Huh? Oh! No..." I replied, realizing he wanted me to explain my seemingly random grin.

"I was just shopping for deodorant for my husband," I said, still bemused. "I don't know if I've ever shopped for men's deodorant, so I didn't anticipate the machismo marketing...

"Did you know that could can buy a twin pack of Old Spice--'2 Manly Deodorants' together?! I wonder how many men have fallen for that ploy!!"

Quickly, I glanced down at the counter. Whew! Lucky for me, this guy wasn't one of 'em--at least, not today.

Unlike Jaguar Lady with her low-brow palate, I can go on imagining that this city slicker passer-through graces his 'pits with nothing less than Ralph Lauren.

It's a silliness to record these things, I suppose, but such diversions lend my spirit a lightness that winter's lack of light threatens to extinguish.

Stew, Stan, and "Mom, you're fired!"

Best Flat Stanley photo ever? Probably not yet! Auntie Steph outdoes herself as hostess...again.

This morning my 7-year-old daughter threatened to have me fired. I had booted her off the couch and TV. I had made her practice her piano lesson. And then--then!!--I insisted she find her own clothes and dress herself. "I'm going to have Papa fire you!" she declared. I found it intriguing that she wished to delegate even this task.

I haven't been blogging much (obviously). I haven't been writing much or reading much or running much, either...or doing any of the other sort of supplementary stuff that I enjoy. I'm just going about my business of job and family duties, nibbling on the leftovers of time and circumstances, under-nourished in the hobby department. (Inspired by a recent essay by Houghton College President Shirley Mullen, I even checked out of the local library the little book, Painting as a Pastime, by Winston Churchill...like a month ago! Then renewed it. Haven't read it yet.)

Fortunately, I have Flat Stanley. My third-grader son is participating in the worldwide literature-based geography project where children mail 8x10 cardstock figures to friends and family living throughout the country and the world. My best friend lives in London, so we sent Stanley there. When my oldest daughter was in third grade, my best friend was living in Iowa City, so we sent Stanley there. Amazingly, my best friend can make Iowa City and London equally interesting to an 8-year-old! Anyway, I felt jealous of Stanley's travels, and also of my friend's opportunity for this diversion from the doldrums of winter living, I made my own Stanley from a template I found online. Finding and photographing ways to "Stan" in our daily activities has provided a much-needed post-holiday source of amusement. So, there's that.

I'm running out of time to write (as usual), and the real reason I got online was to preserve this recipe that one of my co-workers shared with me a few weeks ago. She printed it up on a piece of paper, which spells almost certain doom for almost any piece of paper entering my home. So, I thought I'd share it with you, dear readers--mainly for the purpose of keeping track of it, with the additional benefit of giving ya'll a yummy supper sometime soon. Bon appetit!

White Bean Stew

1/4 c. olive oil
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 large red onion, chopped
4 large tomatoes, chopped
2 14-oz. cans white beans (such as cannellini, great norther or navy), drained and rinsed
1 t. salt
1 t. pepper
2 T. chopped fresh rosemary
1/2 c. grated Parmesan cheese

Heat the oil in a 2-qt. pot over med-high heat. Add garlic and onion and cook, stirring, until onion is soft and translucent, about 5 min. Add the tomato, beans, salt, pepper and rosemary. Cook until heated through, 5-10 min. Sprinkle with cheese. (Serves 4)