"Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooal!!!!!!!"
That is what we've been hearing a lot of in our house for the last week. The World Cup soccer games have held Sam's attention, and he's been watching the Spanish language television channel coverage. The announcers are so much more interesting and animated than the American sports commentators. I usually pick up a new Spanish word or two as I walk through the livingroom.
Watching sports (particularly golf--oh help!) has never been something I've had patience for. But soccer is one sport that I understand and appreciate since I played it for awhile in middle school.
What I really love about watching the World Cup series is the crowd reactions in the stands. Soccer is not a spectator sport for European audiences. They actively encourage the players by robust singing, clapping, and shouting. As the plays get closer to the goal, the intensity of the crowd increases until there is a deafening roar coming from the grandstands. Involvement is the name of their game, even if it is from the stands. I just love the solidarity and support that spills out onto the streets after games (sans the fights, riots, and general destruction that can occur).
As I was watching the games this morning, it occurred to me that for many people, life is only a spectator sport--and one that they watch with quiet despair. People often do anything but examine their own lives, or build their own dreams. It is far easier to be the spectator while someone else does the work. We hover about our televisions every night, cheering on people who are racing around the world, or who must drink cow bile to win a million dollars, or who are gambling for big bucks. We even cheer for actors who make men and women appear to be idiotic, inept, insensitive, and clueless in every way. We watch murders and crimes of all kinds, silently cheering for the good guy and hoping that right wins in the end.
Or, if it's not television, we read romance novels about impossible sexual exploits that if truly happened, would put nature on its ear. Grand relationships birthed from a furtive glance, a heaving (visible, voluptuous) breast, and communication that even cavemen would find insufficient.
Meanwhile, life in the real world passes us by. Many people can talk with you about the plot of the series, "Lost" but can't talk about anything substantive about their own life, their thoughts, hopes, dreams. We know who the American Idol is and what Simon Cowle's comments were about him, but few people know the height and breadth of their own emotional terrain. We know what Tom Cruise's religious beliefs are, but do we know our own with any measure of certainty? We watch people do a slow verbal and emotional striptease on shows like Oprah and Dr. Phil, but have we ever looked at the issues in ourselves that the guests of these shows share with the world?
For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul? (Matthew 16:26).
Soulfulness is hard to come by for people who live their lives through the experience of other people. Their souls become neglected, lonely, melancholy starvelings that are kept hidden away because they're not as exciting or romantic as what we can watch or read about elsewhere. God forbid that life becomes a spectator sport for anyone!
June 30, 2006
June 29, 2006
Hot
When I was invited to move to the Southwest, I knew it would be very hot down here. It was the one thing that I dreaded most--the pollution, gangs, crime, huge population, earthquakes, fires, mudslides, and smog notwithstanding. I get really cranky when it's hot outside because I was made for life in Minnesota or the Adirondacks. It was 101 degrees Farenheit today. Nothing could lure me outside, and I stayed in, grateful for air conditioning.
Late this afternoon the gardener came to work in the yard. Using a leaf blower, he blew clouds of dust into the air around the back of the house, clearing long accumulated refuse into one place. A few minutes later, the air coming out of our air vents started getting considerably warmer. Soon it was 82 degrees in the house and we were getting lethargic and very uncomfortable. Of course, the air and refrigeration people are backlogged and we don't know when they'll get to us. So here we sit with fans whirring and the house temperature in the 80s.
It is at times like this that I wonder how the pioneers ever survived life in the West without the conveniences of modern life. They lived in adobe homes, close to the ground, with large verandas and palm trees planted as close to the homes as possible in order to provide shade. The heat must have been atrocious. All I can think of is how horrible it would have been to be pregnant or be ill in the summer.
Our night air is mercifully cooler than the day, for which we are eternally grateful! We will open up the house tonight, blow out the hot air with fans and then close everything up in the morning--curtains and blinds drawn, fans whirring all day. Perhaps the repairmen can get here in the next couple days. I think we will visit our friends across town tomorrow...
June 28, 2006
Psychological snake oil
I remember what happened when I decided to take a master's degree in counseling. Some of my conservative Christian friends were alarmed and told me they'd be praying for me. Others asked if I knew of some obscure prayer-filled, scripture verse reciting method of counseling--that sounded to me to be more like a exegetical study than psychological healing. One woman shook her head sadly and told me that she believed that I'd lose my way, spiritually. Pretty soon, she said, I'd get my ears pierced, stop returning tithe to God, and then it would be downhill on ice all the way to the hot place (I never understood that...).
I went into my master's studies quite fearful that I was going to learn a bunch of hocus-pocus for infidels that would do little more than entertain the idle rich. My family is the sort that needs to have a product for the work they do: a lesson plan delivered, a hardwood floor laid, a patient washed and given medications, or a quilt made. When I announced to them that I would be studying to be a therapist, it was mostly blank confused looks that I got. "But what will you actually do?" they asked. "Who is going to pay you for listening to them? I just can't see that." I wasn't sure, but people were doing it all over the world and there must be more to it than just listening.
Three years later, I was a new counselor. One of my friends, an internist, told me about mutual friends who had gone to see a counselor to save their marriage. "I was shocked!" she exclaimed. "That stuff actually works!" I'm afraid I smirked then. And you've acted superior and scorned my career choice for three years! She thought it was all hooey.
Therapy is an art, based on science. Sometimes it is slow going and it looks and feels as though nothing is happening. There are sessions when I look at my clients and wonder if I should take money for what happened or didn't happen in the room that day. But almost imperceptibly, something begins to shift for them, and they begin to change and report very interesting growth and new perspectives. Sometimes it happens when we can see it, bring it out in the open and explore what it means to have these changes. Other times, it comes out when I'm not around and there is no way to know that anything happened. One must believe in the value of the process--change happens, as well as growth, in our subconscious, when we're busy with our lives.
This intangibility was very difficult for me as a new therapist. In fact, I'd say that only in the last four years has my faith in good therapy become solidified.
So tonight, when I happened across a wonderful blog entry by Irene*Unraveled, I realized that skeptics are of every stripe, and therapy can help anyway. Next time you feel like blowing off therapists as snake oil peddlers, pause.
I went into my master's studies quite fearful that I was going to learn a bunch of hocus-pocus for infidels that would do little more than entertain the idle rich. My family is the sort that needs to have a product for the work they do: a lesson plan delivered, a hardwood floor laid, a patient washed and given medications, or a quilt made. When I announced to them that I would be studying to be a therapist, it was mostly blank confused looks that I got. "But what will you actually do?" they asked. "Who is going to pay you for listening to them? I just can't see that." I wasn't sure, but people were doing it all over the world and there must be more to it than just listening.
Three years later, I was a new counselor. One of my friends, an internist, told me about mutual friends who had gone to see a counselor to save their marriage. "I was shocked!" she exclaimed. "That stuff actually works!" I'm afraid I smirked then. And you've acted superior and scorned my career choice for three years! She thought it was all hooey.
Therapy is an art, based on science. Sometimes it is slow going and it looks and feels as though nothing is happening. There are sessions when I look at my clients and wonder if I should take money for what happened or didn't happen in the room that day. But almost imperceptibly, something begins to shift for them, and they begin to change and report very interesting growth and new perspectives. Sometimes it happens when we can see it, bring it out in the open and explore what it means to have these changes. Other times, it comes out when I'm not around and there is no way to know that anything happened. One must believe in the value of the process--change happens, as well as growth, in our subconscious, when we're busy with our lives.
This intangibility was very difficult for me as a new therapist. In fact, I'd say that only in the last four years has my faith in good therapy become solidified.
So tonight, when I happened across a wonderful blog entry by Irene*Unraveled, I realized that skeptics are of every stripe, and therapy can help anyway. Next time you feel like blowing off therapists as snake oil peddlers, pause.
June 22, 2006
Near Fatality at Sin City
We have arrived in our new city and are now working at getting our millions of boxes emptied and put into some semblance of order. It is a frustrating and exhausting business, this.
We almost lost Otis on our journey. Our car thermostat went out just as we were driving into Las Vegas in 108 degree heat. I thought we'd hit the gateway to hell for more than one reason. We pulled off the road into the shade of some sort of palm tree by a service station, opened the windows and fanned Otis to keep him cool. Seeing his little panicked face and hearing him cry while he panted, was enough to do me in. After about 15 minutes of this unbearable heat, I grabbed him up and ran into a hotel lobby with him. Although we were all horribly shaken by the car breakdown and heat, all ended well. By evening, Otis was playing with a string on our hotel bed, and we had arrangements to repair the car.
I feel very fortunate to have arrived in our new home. Although it is a temporary home, it feels good to be settling in. Work starts on July 3rd. Let's see how it feels then!
We almost lost Otis on our journey. Our car thermostat went out just as we were driving into Las Vegas in 108 degree heat. I thought we'd hit the gateway to hell for more than one reason. We pulled off the road into the shade of some sort of palm tree by a service station, opened the windows and fanned Otis to keep him cool. Seeing his little panicked face and hearing him cry while he panted, was enough to do me in. After about 15 minutes of this unbearable heat, I grabbed him up and ran into a hotel lobby with him. Although we were all horribly shaken by the car breakdown and heat, all ended well. By evening, Otis was playing with a string on our hotel bed, and we had arrangements to repair the car.
I feel very fortunate to have arrived in our new home. Although it is a temporary home, it feels good to be settling in. Work starts on July 3rd. Let's see how it feels then!
June 8, 2006
Another Time Out
If you read this blog, you've noticed that I've not written very often recently. That is because we are moving our household to another state next week and have been packing. And I've been grading final papers.
It seems that a time out will be a good thing until we've relocated completely.
Come back in July--I'll be here and hoping to hear from you again.
It seems that a time out will be a good thing until we've relocated completely.
Come back in July--I'll be here and hoping to hear from you again.
June 7, 2006
Goodbye, Jon
Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them" (Revelation 13:14)
When I lived in Minnesota, a man and his wife in a church that I was visiting, invited me home for lunch after the service. They must have recognized that "I'm lost and alone, please be my friend" look I probably had, and they took me in. Jon and Colleen lived way out in the country, and had a beautiful red barn that had been used in a butter commercial. It was the most picturesque, lovely old thing and was a shiny red. Jon and Colleen's house was over a hundred years old, and they had lived in it for a long time. I immediately felt at home there, and wished I had been able to spend time sitting on their front porch more often during my Minnesota sojourn.
Jon and Colleen invited me over several times, and when Sam and I got married and returned to Minnesota, they invited us over. When they visited Indianapolis, they invited me to join them for a potluck at their son's house. They could not have been kinder to me.
I really like both Jon and Colleen, but Jon got into the cockles of my heart. Jon was a very kind, generous man. He was quick to tear up and reach for someone to hug. He had the most twinkly eyes and hearty laugh that made me want to tell him jokes and be witty just to hear him wheeze and laugh. Once during a sermon that went on and on, we were almost in tears from laughing on the sly. The pastor had exhausted nearly all the texts on a particular topic and suddenly, as our stomachs began to growl for lunch, he started in on another long list of texts. Colleen later said that we shouldn't sit together because we were a lethal duo.
I probably only spent time with Jon and Colleen six or seven times, but they were always welcoming and eager to spend more time with me. A few months ago I learned that Jon had just been diagnosed with advanced liver cancer. I sent him a card telling him that I was praying for him and fervently hoped that he wasn't suffering.
Today I found out that Jon died a couple days ago. His funeral is in two days. The picture that I was sent in his death announcement showed him wearing a hat over what I suppose was a head bald from chemotherapy, and with his arms around his two sisters, and a very broad grin on his thinning face. He was wan but happy and full of life.
The Bible says that those who "die in the Lord" are asleep until the resurrection. That comforts me tremendously at times like this. I know I will see Jon again. Jon and Colleen, one of the most loving and in love couples I've ever met, will again be reunited, to love again forever and ever. I believe that Jon will spend eternity making others happy, just as he did here.
Sweet rest, my friend. I hope the Day comes soon.
When I lived in Minnesota, a man and his wife in a church that I was visiting, invited me home for lunch after the service. They must have recognized that "I'm lost and alone, please be my friend" look I probably had, and they took me in. Jon and Colleen lived way out in the country, and had a beautiful red barn that had been used in a butter commercial. It was the most picturesque, lovely old thing and was a shiny red. Jon and Colleen's house was over a hundred years old, and they had lived in it for a long time. I immediately felt at home there, and wished I had been able to spend time sitting on their front porch more often during my Minnesota sojourn.
Jon and Colleen invited me over several times, and when Sam and I got married and returned to Minnesota, they invited us over. When they visited Indianapolis, they invited me to join them for a potluck at their son's house. They could not have been kinder to me.
I really like both Jon and Colleen, but Jon got into the cockles of my heart. Jon was a very kind, generous man. He was quick to tear up and reach for someone to hug. He had the most twinkly eyes and hearty laugh that made me want to tell him jokes and be witty just to hear him wheeze and laugh. Once during a sermon that went on and on, we were almost in tears from laughing on the sly. The pastor had exhausted nearly all the texts on a particular topic and suddenly, as our stomachs began to growl for lunch, he started in on another long list of texts. Colleen later said that we shouldn't sit together because we were a lethal duo.
I probably only spent time with Jon and Colleen six or seven times, but they were always welcoming and eager to spend more time with me. A few months ago I learned that Jon had just been diagnosed with advanced liver cancer. I sent him a card telling him that I was praying for him and fervently hoped that he wasn't suffering.
Today I found out that Jon died a couple days ago. His funeral is in two days. The picture that I was sent in his death announcement showed him wearing a hat over what I suppose was a head bald from chemotherapy, and with his arms around his two sisters, and a very broad grin on his thinning face. He was wan but happy and full of life.
The Bible says that those who "die in the Lord" are asleep until the resurrection. That comforts me tremendously at times like this. I know I will see Jon again. Jon and Colleen, one of the most loving and in love couples I've ever met, will again be reunited, to love again forever and ever. I believe that Jon will spend eternity making others happy, just as he did here.
Sweet rest, my friend. I hope the Day comes soon.
June 3, 2006
Peace in the Uproar
Today is the Sabbath.
I don't know how people manage to survive week after week, month after month, without having a regularly scheduled day to relax, guilt free. As I look around my box-filled livingroom, red tape garishly slapped over the edge of boxes containing fragile items in them, it's a pleasure just to sit and relax. No packing today, no bother with what to clean next, which papers to start to grade, what project we need to get done before we move in two weeks. Just quiet and rest today.
Last night Sam and I were able to lie in bed and read together, then talk into the night, undisturbed by television or radio. It was quiet and pleasant, with the windows open and rain-drenched breezes wafting through the upstairs.
As I write this morning, Sara Groves' voice fills the house and my heart is once again at peace and reaching for God.
That's what the Sabbath is: a gift of time, rest, and peace.
Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, 10but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exodus 20:8-11)
I don't know how people manage to survive week after week, month after month, without having a regularly scheduled day to relax, guilt free. As I look around my box-filled livingroom, red tape garishly slapped over the edge of boxes containing fragile items in them, it's a pleasure just to sit and relax. No packing today, no bother with what to clean next, which papers to start to grade, what project we need to get done before we move in two weeks. Just quiet and rest today.
Last night Sam and I were able to lie in bed and read together, then talk into the night, undisturbed by television or radio. It was quiet and pleasant, with the windows open and rain-drenched breezes wafting through the upstairs.
As I write this morning, Sara Groves' voice fills the house and my heart is once again at peace and reaching for God.
That's what the Sabbath is: a gift of time, rest, and peace.
Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, 10but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exodus 20:8-11)
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