Okay, this is a post just for fun. I repeat, just. for. fun.
Recently, there was some discussion about how Talk Like a Pirate Day cannonballed its way into our Wednesday night children's church program for one brief arghhh-inducing second. There were people who didn’t care for it, and people who did (like me).
My office has been celebrating Talk Like a Pirate Day for the past six years. Seriously.
“Arghhh, matey, hand over that memo and no one gets stapled!”
So, I put on my thinking cap and came up with some Baptist alternatives to Talk Like a Pirate Day. Here we go! (I repeat, this is just for fun. I am NOT recommending you tell children to “Talk like a Pharisee.”)
Talk like an Angel
Talk like a Prophet
Talk like an Apostle
Talk like a Wiseman
Talk like a Psalmist
Talk like a Roman
Talk like a Pharaoh
Talk like a Shepherd
Talk like a Disciple
Talk like a Samaritan
Talk like a Carpenter
Talk like an Innkeeper
Talk like a Fisherman
Talk like an Arc Builder
Talk like a Tax Collector
Talk like an Israelite King
Talk like a Virtuous Queen
Talk (or Bray) like a Camel
Talk like a Patriarch/Matriarch
Talk like a Man Trapped in a Whale
Talk like You’ve Been Wandering in the Wilderness for a Really Long Time
Thanks, folks! I'm here all week!
Friday, September 28, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
How Gossip Is Like Drinking Diet Coke
It tastes delicious but burns your throat in the process.It’s addicting. Soon you find you can’t live without it. No matter how many times you try to quit, it calls to you at every turn.
Even though you know it’s bad for you, even though it might cause irreversible damage, you just keep doing it.
Her name was Amy. And in junior high, she did one of the bravest things I’ve ever witnessed.
There we were, a group of junior high girls gathered in the locker room snickering as we gossiped about girls not in “our” group. Several of us noticed Amy looked a little queasy. We asked her if she was sick.
She shook her head, and then stood up and addressed us. “I think we should stop gossiping. Last night, Pastor talked about treating others how we would want to be treated, and I wouldn’t want people to talk about me like this.”
Having said her piece, she stood there uncertainly, poised to run, and on the brink of tears. It must take monstrous courage to face a group of feral junior high girls. I remember a couple of us raising our eyebrows, and then one of us said something like, “We’ll talk about whatever we want. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
It was said with the implication that she should leave and that, as soon as she did, the conversation would turn to her.
As she ran out of the locker room, I was ashamed by my tacit consent. I, too, had been convicted by the Pastor’s message the night before but hadn’t had the tiniest inclination to act on it. Amy had that courage, and now she was outside the locker room – our group’s frequent haunt – friendless and alone.
I sought her out after our gossiping session – which had included Amy accompanied by words like snotty and stuck-up – and apologized.
“I’m sorry,” I told her as she cried into her Kleenex.
“It’s okay, “she assured me after a while, looking up through reddened eyes.
But it was not okay. I was ashamed by my actions, and the next time our group turned to gossiping, I made jokes and tried – sometimes successfully – to turn the topic to something else. Because I knew if I didn’t, Amy would walk out again, even knowing what it would cost her. Her convictions were that strong.
And I frankly, couldn’t live with the shame that brought me.
That episode from my childhood still resonates with me today. Most likely because I still struggle with gossip. Especially in my office. I work with talented, intelligent, and witty people who like nothing more than the good stop-and-gossip session. It’s how we communicate, relate, and de-stress.
I know that doesn’t make it right.
I try to imagine how my co-workers would act if I stood up and said something about not gossiping. My guess is that they’d listen politely, and then guffaw behind my back.
Office gossip is a unique thing for me. I’m observant when it comes to people, so I’ll observe a person – usually someone the majority of the office doesn’t like – and then formulate the perfect “zinger.” During the next quick exchange with a co-worker in the hallway, I’ll deliver my zinger, usually to howling laughs and snickers. It makes me feel smart and funny.
But all it really makes me is small and petty.
Perhaps the main point is that I know there is no possible way gossiping can ever bring glory to God. Remember the old, “Let me tell you about so-and-so, so you can pray for her” line? That was just Christian gossip. And how well I knew it. We “prayed” for a lot of people in my college dorm room.
I’m more than a little humbled that Amy, at age 13, had conquered the concept of gossiping as an actual sin. She understood the seriousness of it. And since her life had been affected by idle gossip, no doubt she’d felt the sting of knowing other people were talking about her. I’m 29 and just starting to realize how very wrong gossip is and what kind of irreparable damage it can cause.
Just the other day, I was sitting in our staff cafeteria with some co-workers, and we started in on the office misfits. I had zinger after zinger, and we were in stitches from laughter. On the way back to my office however, I felt sick. And it wasn’t from the food. I knew I had done the wrong thing.
So, I’m posting this on my blog. You are my friends and family. I can trust you to help keep me accountable - that my words would honor God and not tear others down.
Amy might not have known it then, but she inspired me by her godly example. I think it’s finally time I stand up and walk outside that locker room with my head held high.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Aunt Ann-Marie
Aunt Ann-Marie. Trying saying THAT five times fast!
My nieces and nephews (my mother’s husband’s Gary’s daughter’s kids - okay so that was just fun to type) call me Aunt Marie, or in the case of Brett’s family – just plain Ann-Marie.
Enough about me. On to some happy news about a baby. It may not be mine, but the next best news is that I’m going to be an aunt!
My cousin Candice is expecting! Yea!
I asked her if it was okay to post her ultrasound photos on my blog, and she said I could share them. I’m so excited!
I know, I know…technically I’m not a “real” aunt, but Candice told me right away she’s making me an honorary aunt to this new little…girl! Candice (along with her sisters Charity and Colleen) are the closest thing I’ll ever HAVE to sisters, so I’m taking my aunt-ing responsibilities seriously.
Mom and I went with Candice to her second ultrasound where the little miss decided to keep her legs firmly crossed, so the technician couldn’t give us a definitive answer on gender. Candice couldn’t take not knowing and went for another ultrasound where she discovered we are awaiting a little girl!
It’s been so wonderful hanging out with Candice – going maternity clothes shopping, buying cute little girl stuff, and planning the baby shower I am hosting!
There must be something in the water, as Candice is only one of five women in our family who are expecting.
Now, if I could only find out where they’re keeping that water!
My nieces and nephews (my mother’s husband’s Gary’s daughter’s kids - okay so that was just fun to type) call me Aunt Marie, or in the case of Brett’s family – just plain Ann-Marie.
Enough about me. On to some happy news about a baby. It may not be mine, but the next best news is that I’m going to be an aunt!
My cousin Candice is expecting! Yea!
I asked her if it was okay to post her ultrasound photos on my blog, and she said I could share them. I’m so excited!
I know, I know…technically I’m not a “real” aunt, but Candice told me right away she’s making me an honorary aunt to this new little…girl! Candice (along with her sisters Charity and Colleen) are the closest thing I’ll ever HAVE to sisters, so I’m taking my aunt-ing responsibilities seriously.
Mom and I went with Candice to her second ultrasound where the little miss decided to keep her legs firmly crossed, so the technician couldn’t give us a definitive answer on gender. Candice couldn’t take not knowing and went for another ultrasound where she discovered we are awaiting a little girl!
It’s been so wonderful hanging out with Candice – going maternity clothes shopping, buying cute little girl stuff, and planning the baby shower I am hosting!
There must be something in the water, as Candice is only one of five women in our family who are expecting.
Now, if I could only find out where they’re keeping that water!
130 Days & Nights
Warning: This is a post about woman “stuff” (as my husband refers to it). Fair warning!
Well, all the signs were there.
Of all people, I should know the signs. Heaven knows, I’ve googled them hundreds of time.
My breasts were sore. I was nauseous. I had headaches and was constantly fatigued. My back and ankles were sore. I was tired all the time. And, (according to the pregnancy sites I’ve googled over the past four years) the biggest sign…I’d gone 130 days since my last period.
Could it finally be?
I spent the last couple of nights thinking about the possibility. Imagining names, picking out colors and themes, and thinking of how I’d tell my mom. But I still resisted taking the test. I knew in my mind that I would rather imagine I was pregnant than deal with the harsh reality that I might not be.
And, I mean, 130 days? How could I ask for a clearer sign?
Candice came over last night, and I told her about my dilemma. I’d been nursing my dream in secret, so it was like ripping off a band-aid off to tell someone.
“Take the test,” Candice told me. “Otherwise, you’re building up false hope, and you know how hard you are going to take it if it’s not positive.”
But, like me, she was excited with the possibility. It very well could be.
This morning I took the test. Waited the two minutes. And faced the dull reality of that one blue line. 130 days, no period, and no baby.
I felt raw inside. Candice was right. That false hope ripped out my insides and threw them in a heap across the floor. The blue line mocked me from the counter, and I felt like a fool for all my pie in the sky baby dreams.
In spite of the thick wall of not-pregnant immunity I’ve tried to build up, I spilled the whole thing to Mom this morning over the phone. (That’ll teach her to call me for computer assistance! :-))
Since Mom went through this exact same experience when she and Dad were trying for me for 11 years, she was a great comfort. We talked about how God opens and closes the womb; how His ways and timing are perfect, and how He made our bodies and knows them better than we ever could.
I felt better after talking to Mom. Better but still let down.
It’s so hard sometimes.
But faith is trusting in something I can’t see. And I can’t see a baby or God. But God is there. I know He loves me, so I have to trust He will take care of me in His perfect way. Giving what He desires for me in His perfect time.
And resting content in whatever, whenever that may be.
If you should feel so inclined, I’d appreciate a couple of your prayers, too.
Well, all the signs were there.
Of all people, I should know the signs. Heaven knows, I’ve googled them hundreds of time.
My breasts were sore. I was nauseous. I had headaches and was constantly fatigued. My back and ankles were sore. I was tired all the time. And, (according to the pregnancy sites I’ve googled over the past four years) the biggest sign…I’d gone 130 days since my last period.
Could it finally be?
I spent the last couple of nights thinking about the possibility. Imagining names, picking out colors and themes, and thinking of how I’d tell my mom. But I still resisted taking the test. I knew in my mind that I would rather imagine I was pregnant than deal with the harsh reality that I might not be.
And, I mean, 130 days? How could I ask for a clearer sign?
Candice came over last night, and I told her about my dilemma. I’d been nursing my dream in secret, so it was like ripping off a band-aid off to tell someone.
“Take the test,” Candice told me. “Otherwise, you’re building up false hope, and you know how hard you are going to take it if it’s not positive.”
But, like me, she was excited with the possibility. It very well could be.
This morning I took the test. Waited the two minutes. And faced the dull reality of that one blue line. 130 days, no period, and no baby.
I felt raw inside. Candice was right. That false hope ripped out my insides and threw them in a heap across the floor. The blue line mocked me from the counter, and I felt like a fool for all my pie in the sky baby dreams.
In spite of the thick wall of not-pregnant immunity I’ve tried to build up, I spilled the whole thing to Mom this morning over the phone. (That’ll teach her to call me for computer assistance! :-))
Since Mom went through this exact same experience when she and Dad were trying for me for 11 years, she was a great comfort. We talked about how God opens and closes the womb; how His ways and timing are perfect, and how He made our bodies and knows them better than we ever could.
I felt better after talking to Mom. Better but still let down.
It’s so hard sometimes.
But faith is trusting in something I can’t see. And I can’t see a baby or God. But God is there. I know He loves me, so I have to trust He will take care of me in His perfect way. Giving what He desires for me in His perfect time.
And resting content in whatever, whenever that may be.
If you should feel so inclined, I’d appreciate a couple of your prayers, too.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Karma
I was on Route 2 driving home on Friday night when an ambulance AND a fire truck came racing down the opposite lane. I, being a responsible driver, knew to “curb right for siren and lights.”
However, the giant black pick-up truck behind me continued to creep up on me at the normal speed of Route 2 (which tends to be between 60-70 mph).
I was torn. I wanted to be a responsible driver and curb right (like the cars in front of me had done) but the driver behind me showed no plans of slowing down, not to mention stopping. So, I decided to at least slow down when the emergency response vehicles went past.
I figured if the other driver hit me, I’d have the advantage. But I did not want to be hit at 70 mph, and this guy was approaching like gangbusters.
Even though I just slowed down and didn’t stop (like I should have done) the driver behind me was practically in my trunk.
I was so frustrated that I gestured in the window that we were supposed to STOP. I made the gesture of “siren and lights” and then put my hand in a “STOP” position and actually mouthed “We’re supposed to STOP!”
I may have added “idiot” at the end.
The other driver didn’t seem much bothered by my irritation and just zoomed past me when I turned onto Roscoe Road.
I drove into Roscoe full of my own self righteousness, still a little ticked off, but knowing I had done the right thing giving him a mini-lecture on correct driving procedures.
As I approached the four way stop on Main Street, I saw the Lions club members were out in the intersection collecting money.
The Main Street four way stop is quite frequently home to various charities who want to “fill the boot” (firefighters), “save the children” (Lion’s Club), and local schools collecting for something.
I don’t mind it, since it gives our town a tight-knit feel, but I didn’t have any cash, so it felt awkward to pull up to the stop sign and not roll down my window.
Since I couldn’t see very well around the Lions Club member in my path, I checked the other drivers. Two of them had just gone, and the woman in the mini-van to my right had her window rolled down and was vigorously chatting with her Lion’s Club member.
It looked like she planned to park there and talk for a while.
Honestly.
So, I started to pull out. As I inched forward, the woman in the mini-van gunned her engine and shot forward.
She gave me a dirty look as she passed in front me. “IT WAS MY TURN!” she mouthed, pointing her fingers at herself. She gave me another dirty look and threw her hands up in frustration as she neatly cut me off.
“But….but…you were chatting.” I muttered in disbelief. I was flabbergasted.
And strangely hurt she had yelled at me.
I hadn’t really thought about waiting for her, simply because (if she had continued to chat) I’d imagined drivers piling up behind both of us at the stop sign. So, I’d thought going was the right thing to do.
A rueful thought appeared to me at that moment. The truck driver I’d lectured probably would have gotten a big kick out of what happened.
If he believed in karma, then he was in luck, because I sure got a big dose of it!
I guess I learned what happens when I don’t “Do unto others…”
Karma. My name is Ann-Marie.
However, the giant black pick-up truck behind me continued to creep up on me at the normal speed of Route 2 (which tends to be between 60-70 mph).
I was torn. I wanted to be a responsible driver and curb right (like the cars in front of me had done) but the driver behind me showed no plans of slowing down, not to mention stopping. So, I decided to at least slow down when the emergency response vehicles went past.
I figured if the other driver hit me, I’d have the advantage. But I did not want to be hit at 70 mph, and this guy was approaching like gangbusters.
Even though I just slowed down and didn’t stop (like I should have done) the driver behind me was practically in my trunk.
I was so frustrated that I gestured in the window that we were supposed to STOP. I made the gesture of “siren and lights” and then put my hand in a “STOP” position and actually mouthed “We’re supposed to STOP!”
I may have added “idiot” at the end.
The other driver didn’t seem much bothered by my irritation and just zoomed past me when I turned onto Roscoe Road.
I drove into Roscoe full of my own self righteousness, still a little ticked off, but knowing I had done the right thing giving him a mini-lecture on correct driving procedures.
As I approached the four way stop on Main Street, I saw the Lions club members were out in the intersection collecting money.
The Main Street four way stop is quite frequently home to various charities who want to “fill the boot” (firefighters), “save the children” (Lion’s Club), and local schools collecting for something.
I don’t mind it, since it gives our town a tight-knit feel, but I didn’t have any cash, so it felt awkward to pull up to the stop sign and not roll down my window.
Since I couldn’t see very well around the Lions Club member in my path, I checked the other drivers. Two of them had just gone, and the woman in the mini-van to my right had her window rolled down and was vigorously chatting with her Lion’s Club member.
It looked like she planned to park there and talk for a while.
Honestly.
So, I started to pull out. As I inched forward, the woman in the mini-van gunned her engine and shot forward.
She gave me a dirty look as she passed in front me. “IT WAS MY TURN!” she mouthed, pointing her fingers at herself. She gave me another dirty look and threw her hands up in frustration as she neatly cut me off.
“But….but…you were chatting.” I muttered in disbelief. I was flabbergasted.
And strangely hurt she had yelled at me.
I hadn’t really thought about waiting for her, simply because (if she had continued to chat) I’d imagined drivers piling up behind both of us at the stop sign. So, I’d thought going was the right thing to do.
A rueful thought appeared to me at that moment. The truck driver I’d lectured probably would have gotten a big kick out of what happened.
If he believed in karma, then he was in luck, because I sure got a big dose of it!
I guess I learned what happens when I don’t “Do unto others…”
Karma. My name is Ann-Marie.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Friday Fun!
You know you went to a conservative Christian high school if:
Chapel was the longest class of the day, with at least one chapel of the week designated as “Sunday Dress Chapel.”
You’ve ever knelt on the floor to check your skirt length.
You wore nylons and dress shoes to school every day.
You know the “three finger rule” as it applies to below the knee, shoulder straps, and how many collar buttons have to be buttoned.
You amassed an admirably large collection of skirts in black and navy blue.
At least one of your teachers had more than seven kids.
You were never offered drugs or alcohol on school property.
Expulsion was the punishment for going to a movie, even if your parents approved it.
Detentions were given out for “acting worldly” and have “conduct unbecoming a Christian.”
“Gee,” “Golly,” and “Gosh” were “swear” word punishable by detention.
More than one guy in your class had the vague ambition of “going into the ministry” but didn’t know what that meant.
You had to wear culottes over your snowpants for winter sledding activities.
People always thought you were Amish when your class went out in public.
No mixed gym classes!!!
Everybody who tried out made the sports teams.
Your cheerleaders wore loose fitting blouses with mid-calf length skirts and weren’t allowed to do cartwheels, flips, or “routines” with a “beat."
Dating consisted of sitting a chair apart at a designated “dating” lunch table.
You never went to “prom” or “homecoming.”
The big social event of the year was the Junior/Senior Banquet where touching or looking at the opposite sex was not allowed.
When a girl said she “went all the way,” it meant she kissed a guy.
You got at least four personalized Bibles at your graduation open house.
And last of all:
You can name your entire graduating class using only two hands!
P.S. - Other signs/suggestions welcome!
Chapel was the longest class of the day, with at least one chapel of the week designated as “Sunday Dress Chapel.”
You’ve ever knelt on the floor to check your skirt length.
You wore nylons and dress shoes to school every day.
You know the “three finger rule” as it applies to below the knee, shoulder straps, and how many collar buttons have to be buttoned.
You amassed an admirably large collection of skirts in black and navy blue.
At least one of your teachers had more than seven kids.
You were never offered drugs or alcohol on school property.
Expulsion was the punishment for going to a movie, even if your parents approved it.
Detentions were given out for “acting worldly” and have “conduct unbecoming a Christian.”
“Gee,” “Golly,” and “Gosh” were “swear” word punishable by detention.
More than one guy in your class had the vague ambition of “going into the ministry” but didn’t know what that meant.
You had to wear culottes over your snowpants for winter sledding activities.
People always thought you were Amish when your class went out in public.
No mixed gym classes!!!
Everybody who tried out made the sports teams.
Your cheerleaders wore loose fitting blouses with mid-calf length skirts and weren’t allowed to do cartwheels, flips, or “routines” with a “beat."
Dating consisted of sitting a chair apart at a designated “dating” lunch table.
You never went to “prom” or “homecoming.”
The big social event of the year was the Junior/Senior Banquet where touching or looking at the opposite sex was not allowed.
When a girl said she “went all the way,” it meant she kissed a guy.
You got at least four personalized Bibles at your graduation open house.
And last of all:
You can name your entire graduating class using only two hands!
P.S. - Other signs/suggestions welcome!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Quick Update!
Yesterday was busy at work, but I had a nice interruption!
My mom invited me to join a little impromptu lunch group at Culver’s. It was quite the lively group – Mom, me, Aunt Linda, Aunt Louise, the whole Erickson clan (Tammy, Rick, Megan, Caleb, and Jacob) and everybody’s favorite (well, mine anyway) Grandma!
It was a good-bye lunch for my Aunt Linda who is flying back to France today. She was only in the States for two and half weeks for this visit.
When I was growing up, Aunt Linda’s family visited only about every five years, but now that she’s retired she gets over here more often. We love seeing her!
Lunch was delicious, and Grandma complimented me on my bracelet! Plus, it was amazing to see how FAST Tammy’s kids are growing up. I remember when they were just babies. So hard to believe.
Later, I called Candice and invited her to come to a Tupperware party with me. She said she wanted to hang out, so I went to her house after work, and we talked for a while before going to the party.
I didn’t even know they sold Tupperware anymore, but they do! We had a really good time. There were some funny ladies there, and the Tupperware consultant was nice and not all pushy. Which is always a pleasant surprise.
There were also some rockin’ brownies on hand.
All in all, a busy but very nice day!
My mom invited me to join a little impromptu lunch group at Culver’s. It was quite the lively group – Mom, me, Aunt Linda, Aunt Louise, the whole Erickson clan (Tammy, Rick, Megan, Caleb, and Jacob) and everybody’s favorite (well, mine anyway) Grandma!
It was a good-bye lunch for my Aunt Linda who is flying back to France today. She was only in the States for two and half weeks for this visit.
When I was growing up, Aunt Linda’s family visited only about every five years, but now that she’s retired she gets over here more often. We love seeing her!
Lunch was delicious, and Grandma complimented me on my bracelet! Plus, it was amazing to see how FAST Tammy’s kids are growing up. I remember when they were just babies. So hard to believe.
Later, I called Candice and invited her to come to a Tupperware party with me. She said she wanted to hang out, so I went to her house after work, and we talked for a while before going to the party.
I didn’t even know they sold Tupperware anymore, but they do! We had a really good time. There were some funny ladies there, and the Tupperware consultant was nice and not all pushy. Which is always a pleasant surprise.
There were also some rockin’ brownies on hand.
All in all, a busy but very nice day!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Short Sunday – Sick Sunday
Well, they are going to start referring to us as the Miss-A-Service-Soderstroms. Sort of like Whack-A-Mole. You know, if the mole didn’t show up.
Anyway, this is the second Sunday in a row I’ve gotten sick.
Two Sundays ago, it was the blinding migraine that KO’d me for the rest of the day. This past Sunday it was a stomach bug that lasted into the early evening!
Am I allergic to church? :-)
It was so disappointing to miss the Sunday Services!
We were able to make it to the Family Breakfast and Bible Hour, but then we (I, really) had to dash for very good reasons.
Still - to all you husbands out there - when your wife is nauseous, and you have to leave church early, do not make jokes about “eating and running.”
This is in poor taste and may have your wife delivering some payback via her breakfast onto your shoes.
Just FYI.
My husband now knows this.
For the short time we were at church, we did enjoy the FB&BH. There was a special guest, Trevor Gearhart, one of the camp program directors for Northland Baptist Bible Camp and Conference Center. Or something like that.
Northland brings back fond memories for me.
I went to camp at Northland a couple of times when I was a kid. I remember riding the bus from Berean as we picked up other kids from churches in Schaumburg.
I especially remember two twin boys, Adam and Carl, who managed to get gum in all the girls’ hair by the end of the bus ride.
Nothing says “camp” better than having your counselor cover your head in peanut butter to get the gum out. And nothing endears you more to your sister campers than smelling like generic-brand peanut butter that the camp hadn’t planned on using to get gum out of campers’ hair.
Gummy, peanut-smelling hair aside, I had a good time at Northland.
In many ways, Northland was my kind of camp. There were comfortable six person cabins with soft bunks for sleeping. Showers and flush toilets in the cabins. A fully stocked commissary. And lots of free time.
In fact that’s what I remember most about Northland. We had more free time than I experienced at Camp Joy. There was time to go swimming and hiking at our leisure. There was structure; it just wasn’t as severe as other camps.
Northland suffered from the competition craziness that all camps did back then – and maybe do now. I remember being on a red or blue team and having to say this stupid cheer over and over again:
“A back-a, back-a, back” (said while leaning back)
“Side-to, side-to” (said while leaning side to side)
“Leaaaaaaaan forward!” (said while…well, you know)
“GO RED!!!!!!!” (said while jumping up and down and generally acting like an idiot)
Stupid.
I knew it then. I know it now. Dumb ‘ol competition. Why can’t we all just get along?
Of course, now I know I’m a “blue” and as a child would have benefited more from encouragement than competition, but I didn’t know that then.
Not that it would have helped. No one would have heard me over that stupid camp cheer.
Anyway, overall, I loved Camp Northland. It was by far my most favorite camping experience. The scenery was beautiful, and my counselor took a genuine interest in my spiritual condition. Which was totally new for me.
It was an encouragement to see that the camp is still going stronger. The camp featured in Mr. Gearhart’s video is prettier, more modern, and glossier than the still-somewhat-primitive cabins I remember.
But the camp’s heart is still there. The mission and the atmosphere are still vibrant with openness, and the love of godly counselors with the power to change lives.
And, hopefully this summer, a little girl just like me pulled the gum out of her hair and enjoyed her week at camp!
Anyway, this is the second Sunday in a row I’ve gotten sick.
Two Sundays ago, it was the blinding migraine that KO’d me for the rest of the day. This past Sunday it was a stomach bug that lasted into the early evening!
Am I allergic to church? :-)
It was so disappointing to miss the Sunday Services!
We were able to make it to the Family Breakfast and Bible Hour, but then we (I, really) had to dash for very good reasons.
Still - to all you husbands out there - when your wife is nauseous, and you have to leave church early, do not make jokes about “eating and running.”
This is in poor taste and may have your wife delivering some payback via her breakfast onto your shoes.
Just FYI.
My husband now knows this.
For the short time we were at church, we did enjoy the FB&BH. There was a special guest, Trevor Gearhart, one of the camp program directors for Northland Baptist Bible Camp and Conference Center. Or something like that.
Northland brings back fond memories for me.
I went to camp at Northland a couple of times when I was a kid. I remember riding the bus from Berean as we picked up other kids from churches in Schaumburg.
I especially remember two twin boys, Adam and Carl, who managed to get gum in all the girls’ hair by the end of the bus ride.
Nothing says “camp” better than having your counselor cover your head in peanut butter to get the gum out. And nothing endears you more to your sister campers than smelling like generic-brand peanut butter that the camp hadn’t planned on using to get gum out of campers’ hair.
Gummy, peanut-smelling hair aside, I had a good time at Northland.
In many ways, Northland was my kind of camp. There were comfortable six person cabins with soft bunks for sleeping. Showers and flush toilets in the cabins. A fully stocked commissary. And lots of free time.
In fact that’s what I remember most about Northland. We had more free time than I experienced at Camp Joy. There was time to go swimming and hiking at our leisure. There was structure; it just wasn’t as severe as other camps.
Northland suffered from the competition craziness that all camps did back then – and maybe do now. I remember being on a red or blue team and having to say this stupid cheer over and over again:
“A back-a, back-a, back” (said while leaning back)
“Side-to, side-to” (said while leaning side to side)
“Leaaaaaaaan forward!” (said while…well, you know)
“GO RED!!!!!!!” (said while jumping up and down and generally acting like an idiot)
Stupid.
I knew it then. I know it now. Dumb ‘ol competition. Why can’t we all just get along?
Of course, now I know I’m a “blue” and as a child would have benefited more from encouragement than competition, but I didn’t know that then.
Not that it would have helped. No one would have heard me over that stupid camp cheer.
Anyway, overall, I loved Camp Northland. It was by far my most favorite camping experience. The scenery was beautiful, and my counselor took a genuine interest in my spiritual condition. Which was totally new for me.
It was an encouragement to see that the camp is still going stronger. The camp featured in Mr. Gearhart’s video is prettier, more modern, and glossier than the still-somewhat-primitive cabins I remember.
But the camp’s heart is still there. The mission and the atmosphere are still vibrant with openness, and the love of godly counselors with the power to change lives.
And, hopefully this summer, a little girl just like me pulled the gum out of her hair and enjoyed her week at camp!
Spent Saturday Sprinting Toward a Sundae
Saturday started out early – too early!
I was scheduled to help at our company’s fundraising run, and I had to be at the run start site at 6:00 a.m.
6:00 a.m. on a Saturday? Unheard of.
Thankfully, my amazing husband offered to come and help out at the run as a volunteer. This, of course, meant he had to rise WITH me at 4:00 a.m.
4:00 a.m. on a Saturday? Unheard of.
Because of course, it takes me an hour to get ready (that’s with no breakfast, work-out, or devotion time), and we knew it would take us an hour to drive to the run site.
Brett decided that if we were getting up at this ungodly hour of the morning – on a weekend for crying out loud – then we MUST stop at Starbucks for a mocha (him) and hot chocolate (me).
We got to Starbucks a little early, and Brett stood outside by the door in the freezing cold. I stayed in the nice warm car. He must have looked pretty pathetic, since the girls working the counter took pity on him and opened early for us!
We headed off to the run site. When we got there it was like 20 degrees or something.
20 degrees in September? Unheard of.
The run went off without a hitch, even if I did leave poor Brett stranded in the woods at a water stop while I went to help “cheerlead” the runners to the finish line.
Afterwards, we were headed home, and we both said how it felt like 2:00 p.m. or something when it was only 10:30 a.m.
Because we had gotten up so early on a weekend? Oh, yeah! Unheard of.
When we got home, Brett did his favorite activity – shooting at the farm– and I did mine – napping at the house.
Purrrrfect!
Saturday night, we joined Mom, Gary, and my Aunt Linda (visiting us all the way from France) at a fish boil out in Rock City.
Now, I don’t know why I agree to go to these things.
Well, okay, I do know. I love my family and enjoy being with them.
However, every time I go to one of these things, I make it known in advance I will not be having any fish.
Why? Because I do not like fish.
And I don’t care what you say you can do to it to make it taste not-like-fish so that I will enjoy it.
I will not enjoy it anyway. It will still BE FISH. It will STILL – in spite of anything you do to it - taste like FISH.
In my opinion, if you have to do something drastic to something to make it not taste like itself, then maybe you shouldn’t be eating it to begin with, you know?
But no one believes me.
Every fish boil I’ve gone to, people try to force fish on me.
“Just try it.”
It’s so buttery.”
“It doesn’t taste like fish.”
YES IT DOES. IF I WANTED BUTTER, I’D EAT BUTTER. I DON’T WANT ANY FISH. LEAVE ME ALONE. DO I MAKE YOU EAT THINGS YOU DON’T WANT TO? I SAID I DON’T WANT FISH. AND. I. DON’T.
Oops…sorry about that. I guess I have some unresolved issues to work out.
Back to this fish boil – that’s right Gary, I really don’t want any fish – we were able to meet up with some of Gary’s family – his sister, his two nieces, and his great-nephew.
We had a wonderful time talking with them, and everyone got extra potatoes, so I had something to eat. Mom even gave me her dinner roll (thanks for not forcing fish on me, Mom!).
After dinner, Mom and I visited the dessert table where we got scrumptious peanut-butter-rice-crispy-chocolate-thingies that were OH. MY. YUM. good. And for only a $1 donation.
Only $1? Unheard of.
After dinner we checked out the gorgeous new Rock City Fire Department (which I think is actually bigger than the whole town – blink and you’ll miss it) and took a ton of photos with Mom’s digital camera.
Check us out at Mom’s blog!
We drove around for a while and even stopped by Uncle Ron’s place in Dakota and spent some time with him and Sarah.
On our way back home, we swung by the Dari Ripple where Brett had a Waffle Cone Sundae; I had a Hot Fudge Sundae; Mom had a Butterscotch Dipped Cone, and Gary had a Giant Vanilla Cone.
Aunt Linda showed great restraint by passing up all the goodies and sticking to her diet.
A Rehfeldt passing up food? Unheard of.
Back at Mom and Gary’s, it was hugs and good nights, as we bundled ourselves home for the rest of the evening. Which ended up with the two of us snuggled up on the couch watching the Season 2 Finale of Dr. Quinn before falling asleep.
Not spending Saturday with the people I love the most? Unheard of.
I was scheduled to help at our company’s fundraising run, and I had to be at the run start site at 6:00 a.m.
6:00 a.m. on a Saturday? Unheard of.
Thankfully, my amazing husband offered to come and help out at the run as a volunteer. This, of course, meant he had to rise WITH me at 4:00 a.m.
4:00 a.m. on a Saturday? Unheard of.
Because of course, it takes me an hour to get ready (that’s with no breakfast, work-out, or devotion time), and we knew it would take us an hour to drive to the run site.
Brett decided that if we were getting up at this ungodly hour of the morning – on a weekend for crying out loud – then we MUST stop at Starbucks for a mocha (him) and hot chocolate (me).
We got to Starbucks a little early, and Brett stood outside by the door in the freezing cold. I stayed in the nice warm car. He must have looked pretty pathetic, since the girls working the counter took pity on him and opened early for us!
We headed off to the run site. When we got there it was like 20 degrees or something.
20 degrees in September? Unheard of.
The run went off without a hitch, even if I did leave poor Brett stranded in the woods at a water stop while I went to help “cheerlead” the runners to the finish line.
Afterwards, we were headed home, and we both said how it felt like 2:00 p.m. or something when it was only 10:30 a.m.
Because we had gotten up so early on a weekend? Oh, yeah! Unheard of.
When we got home, Brett did his favorite activity – shooting at the farm– and I did mine – napping at the house.
Purrrrfect!
Saturday night, we joined Mom, Gary, and my Aunt Linda (visiting us all the way from France) at a fish boil out in Rock City.
Now, I don’t know why I agree to go to these things.
Well, okay, I do know. I love my family and enjoy being with them.
However, every time I go to one of these things, I make it known in advance I will not be having any fish.
Why? Because I do not like fish.
And I don’t care what you say you can do to it to make it taste not-like-fish so that I will enjoy it.
I will not enjoy it anyway. It will still BE FISH. It will STILL – in spite of anything you do to it - taste like FISH.
In my opinion, if you have to do something drastic to something to make it not taste like itself, then maybe you shouldn’t be eating it to begin with, you know?
But no one believes me.
Every fish boil I’ve gone to, people try to force fish on me.
“Just try it.”
It’s so buttery.”
“It doesn’t taste like fish.”
YES IT DOES. IF I WANTED BUTTER, I’D EAT BUTTER. I DON’T WANT ANY FISH. LEAVE ME ALONE. DO I MAKE YOU EAT THINGS YOU DON’T WANT TO? I SAID I DON’T WANT FISH. AND. I. DON’T.
Oops…sorry about that. I guess I have some unresolved issues to work out.
Back to this fish boil – that’s right Gary, I really don’t want any fish – we were able to meet up with some of Gary’s family – his sister, his two nieces, and his great-nephew.
We had a wonderful time talking with them, and everyone got extra potatoes, so I had something to eat. Mom even gave me her dinner roll (thanks for not forcing fish on me, Mom!).
After dinner, Mom and I visited the dessert table where we got scrumptious peanut-butter-rice-crispy-chocolate-thingies that were OH. MY. YUM. good. And for only a $1 donation.
Only $1? Unheard of.
After dinner we checked out the gorgeous new Rock City Fire Department (which I think is actually bigger than the whole town – blink and you’ll miss it) and took a ton of photos with Mom’s digital camera.
Check us out at Mom’s blog!
We drove around for a while and even stopped by Uncle Ron’s place in Dakota and spent some time with him and Sarah.
On our way back home, we swung by the Dari Ripple where Brett had a Waffle Cone Sundae; I had a Hot Fudge Sundae; Mom had a Butterscotch Dipped Cone, and Gary had a Giant Vanilla Cone.
Aunt Linda showed great restraint by passing up all the goodies and sticking to her diet.
A Rehfeldt passing up food? Unheard of.
Back at Mom and Gary’s, it was hugs and good nights, as we bundled ourselves home for the rest of the evening. Which ended up with the two of us snuggled up on the couch watching the Season 2 Finale of Dr. Quinn before falling asleep.
Not spending Saturday with the people I love the most? Unheard of.
Blogging about Being Blue (Not Blue about Being Blue, Though)
I miss my blog.
When there is no time (or technology – as it happens when you are poor like us) to blog, I find myself pining for my blog.
So, on to my weekend wrap-up!
On Friday, our company joined with three other non-profits for a one day retreat where all the employees took the True Colors personality test.
Later, when I told Brett I had taken a personality test, he gave me a sad look and said, “Oh honey, did you fail?”
DID I FAIL?!
You know, sometimes he almost has me convinced he has no sense of humor, and then he goes and makes a joke, and throws me off all over again!
Anyway, back to the test. We were given four cards with various colors, photos, and graphics on them. The facilitator told us - just by looking at the images on the front – to arrange the cards in order from left to right with the images we felt were most like us on the left and least like us on the right.
Then we filled out a sheet which listed rows of words. We had to score the set of words which we felt were most like us with a 4, the next like us a 3, the next a 2, and the least like us a 1.
When we were all finished scoring, we were able to see which personality color was our brightest (most points) and palest (least points).
I am a blue.
Most of the room was gold. The tiny percent of the rest of us were blue (like me), orange, or green.
Actually, since we are all a spectrum of all four personalities, I am a blue-gold-orange-green. But I’m mostly a blue. A solid third gold. And a tiny, itsy bit orange and an even tinier bit green.
So what is a blue?
On the back of “my” card – the blue card – it lists the traits of a “blue.”
I need to feel unique and authentic.
Enthusiastic, Sympathetic, Personal
I look for meaning and significance in life.
Warm, Communicative, Compassionate
I need to contribute, to encourage, and to care.
Idealistic, Spiritual, Sincere
I value integrity and unity in relationships.
Peaceful, Flexible, Imaginative
I am a natural romantic, a poet, and a nurturer.
At work, I have a strong desire to influence others so they lead more significant lives. I often work in the arts, communications, education, and the helping professions. I am adept at motivating and interacting with others.
In love, I seek harmonious relationships and believe in true love. I am romantic and cherish the small gestures of love. I am affectionate, supportive, and a good listener. I enjoy doing thoughtful things for others. I bring drama, warmth, and empathy to relationships.
In childhood, I was imaginative and creative. I flourished with encouragement rather than competition, and wanted others to like me. I reacted with great sensitivity to discordance or rejection and sought recognition. I responded best to my teachers who were warm and friendly.
So, there you have it. I am a blue.
I have to say after I read the back of the card; I found myself nodding as I saw part of myself reflected back.
Disclaimer: I do not believe in true love; I’m not very flexible, and instead of being “spiritual,” I believe in God, not just some big ‘ol higher power.
After we determined our colors, we were separated into our brightest color groups. Those of us who were blue had a great time.
We made up a grid that reflected what we felt were “blue” joys, strengths, values, and frustrations. Each color group reported out to the main group, so we could all get a better understanding of each personality type.
After that, we were sent to our “palest” color groups – mine was green – and told that we would have to plan a “mock” staff retreat for that color.
Needless to say, our group PROVED green was our palest color, since the green group turned its nose up at our retreat plan.
Still, it wasn’t a total loss. One of the women I work with was in the green group. After I read a little bit about the green personality, I began to understand some of the things that frustrate me about working with her at times.
Enlightening.
Hanging out with the other blues was also a lot of fun. It was sort of like finding solidarity in a sorority I didn’t know I was a member of.
We shared common stories like what drove us crazy at our workplaces, the kind of people who made us want to tear our hair out, and what we loved about our jobs and our various co-workers.
It was sort of amazing to be surrounded by other women who hated competitive games when they were younger, too.
Or who understood why doing something nice for someone else was important, or how people sometimes look down on us for being nice, like we’re stupid for wanting others to succeed.
It was even better when my boss – who is a solid GOLD – stopped by and said how she was glad I was blue, since I help balance her and make our department better.
My new slogan? Blue is Beautiful!
When there is no time (or technology – as it happens when you are poor like us) to blog, I find myself pining for my blog.
So, on to my weekend wrap-up!
On Friday, our company joined with three other non-profits for a one day retreat where all the employees took the True Colors personality test.
Later, when I told Brett I had taken a personality test, he gave me a sad look and said, “Oh honey, did you fail?”
DID I FAIL?!
You know, sometimes he almost has me convinced he has no sense of humor, and then he goes and makes a joke, and throws me off all over again!
Anyway, back to the test. We were given four cards with various colors, photos, and graphics on them. The facilitator told us - just by looking at the images on the front – to arrange the cards in order from left to right with the images we felt were most like us on the left and least like us on the right.
Then we filled out a sheet which listed rows of words. We had to score the set of words which we felt were most like us with a 4, the next like us a 3, the next a 2, and the least like us a 1.
When we were all finished scoring, we were able to see which personality color was our brightest (most points) and palest (least points).
I am a blue.
Most of the room was gold. The tiny percent of the rest of us were blue (like me), orange, or green.
Actually, since we are all a spectrum of all four personalities, I am a blue-gold-orange-green. But I’m mostly a blue. A solid third gold. And a tiny, itsy bit orange and an even tinier bit green.
So what is a blue?
On the back of “my” card – the blue card – it lists the traits of a “blue.”
I need to feel unique and authentic.
Enthusiastic, Sympathetic, Personal
I look for meaning and significance in life.
Warm, Communicative, Compassionate
I need to contribute, to encourage, and to care.
Idealistic, Spiritual, Sincere
I value integrity and unity in relationships.
Peaceful, Flexible, Imaginative
I am a natural romantic, a poet, and a nurturer.
At work, I have a strong desire to influence others so they lead more significant lives. I often work in the arts, communications, education, and the helping professions. I am adept at motivating and interacting with others.
In love, I seek harmonious relationships and believe in true love. I am romantic and cherish the small gestures of love. I am affectionate, supportive, and a good listener. I enjoy doing thoughtful things for others. I bring drama, warmth, and empathy to relationships.
In childhood, I was imaginative and creative. I flourished with encouragement rather than competition, and wanted others to like me. I reacted with great sensitivity to discordance or rejection and sought recognition. I responded best to my teachers who were warm and friendly.
So, there you have it. I am a blue.
I have to say after I read the back of the card; I found myself nodding as I saw part of myself reflected back.
Disclaimer: I do not believe in true love; I’m not very flexible, and instead of being “spiritual,” I believe in God, not just some big ‘ol higher power.
After we determined our colors, we were separated into our brightest color groups. Those of us who were blue had a great time.
We made up a grid that reflected what we felt were “blue” joys, strengths, values, and frustrations. Each color group reported out to the main group, so we could all get a better understanding of each personality type.
After that, we were sent to our “palest” color groups – mine was green – and told that we would have to plan a “mock” staff retreat for that color.
Needless to say, our group PROVED green was our palest color, since the green group turned its nose up at our retreat plan.
Still, it wasn’t a total loss. One of the women I work with was in the green group. After I read a little bit about the green personality, I began to understand some of the things that frustrate me about working with her at times.
Enlightening.
Hanging out with the other blues was also a lot of fun. It was sort of like finding solidarity in a sorority I didn’t know I was a member of.
We shared common stories like what drove us crazy at our workplaces, the kind of people who made us want to tear our hair out, and what we loved about our jobs and our various co-workers.
It was sort of amazing to be surrounded by other women who hated competitive games when they were younger, too.
Or who understood why doing something nice for someone else was important, or how people sometimes look down on us for being nice, like we’re stupid for wanting others to succeed.
It was even better when my boss – who is a solid GOLD – stopped by and said how she was glad I was blue, since I help balance her and make our department better.
My new slogan? Blue is Beautiful!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Thursday Thirteen
It’s another Thursday Thirteen! My random subject matter in this post consists of a selection of thirteen character names in my as-of-yet-unpublished books.
In Brusied:
Wes - 15 year old foster son being physically abused (only) by his police officer foster father
Lisa – Wes’ foster sister, 14 years old, in the same position
Harry - the girl chasing, promiscuous half of the gorgeous 16 year old Hathaway twins
Sam - second half of the Hathaway twins, sullen, with a penchant for violence and destruction
Dan - police officer and abusive foster father to Wes and Lisa
As-of-yet untitled historical fiction:
Lexi - second oldest in a group of nine children who survived their town’s outbreak of scarlet fever and have been brought to a new town to be adopted by a reclusive farmer
Colin - the young but reclusive farmer with a sordid past who plans to use the children as work horses on his farm.
Shane - third oldest in the line of children, sympathetic to Lexi’s plight
Mari - fourth oldest in the line of children, helps Lexi with the mounting domestic and farm tasks since Colin has prohibited both girls from attending school in town
Jackson - son of Colin’s best friend - a neighboring farmer and raging drunkard - who secretly admires Lexi from afar
As-of-yet untitled futuristic fiction:
Parker - one half of the judging team that hears and sentences all homicides that occur in his high-rise Life Tower, one of seven mega-towers that now house all people on earth
In Gangland:
Lawrence - a former private school boy, now heads the vicious Vile Panthers gang in downtown Chicago, after a plague wipes out 2/3 of civilization leaving the remaining population to be ruled by gangs
Marco - following his secret rescue from death after his gang initiation, has finally risen to the top echelon of the Latin Fervor gang
In Brusied:
Wes - 15 year old foster son being physically abused (only) by his police officer foster father
Lisa – Wes’ foster sister, 14 years old, in the same position
Harry - the girl chasing, promiscuous half of the gorgeous 16 year old Hathaway twins
Sam - second half of the Hathaway twins, sullen, with a penchant for violence and destruction
Dan - police officer and abusive foster father to Wes and Lisa
As-of-yet untitled historical fiction:
Lexi - second oldest in a group of nine children who survived their town’s outbreak of scarlet fever and have been brought to a new town to be adopted by a reclusive farmer
Colin - the young but reclusive farmer with a sordid past who plans to use the children as work horses on his farm.
Shane - third oldest in the line of children, sympathetic to Lexi’s plight
Mari - fourth oldest in the line of children, helps Lexi with the mounting domestic and farm tasks since Colin has prohibited both girls from attending school in town
Jackson - son of Colin’s best friend - a neighboring farmer and raging drunkard - who secretly admires Lexi from afar
As-of-yet untitled futuristic fiction:
Parker - one half of the judging team that hears and sentences all homicides that occur in his high-rise Life Tower, one of seven mega-towers that now house all people on earth
In Gangland:
Lawrence - a former private school boy, now heads the vicious Vile Panthers gang in downtown Chicago, after a plague wipes out 2/3 of civilization leaving the remaining population to be ruled by gangs
Marco - following his secret rescue from death after his gang initiation, has finally risen to the top echelon of the Latin Fervor gang
Overheard at Kids 4 Truth
“You have really short legs.”
- the little girl who sat on my lap
“Hey, they're watching a MOVIE! I’m telling!”
- a little girl referring to the teens (who are watching creation videos in their Wednesday night study)
“Where is the Empha Sea? Is it by the ocean?”
- in response to a question by Mr. Joel wanting to know what the “emphasis” was in Genesis
“How come the little kids get asked the same review question every week, but we older kids have to answer new ones?”
- one of the older boys
“Do YOU know the answer to their question yet?"
- my response
“No.”
- his response
“Maybe that’s why they keep asking.”
- me, again.
“OH!”
- moment of dawning realization by older boy
Kudos to Lacey Berryman - Fill-in Song Leader and Game Coordinator Extraordinaire, and Mr. Joel for a thought-provoking (emphatical) lesson on God’s goodness!
And a pat on the back to myself for learning TWO new things at Kid’s 4 Truth.
I learned a new Bible song based on the “classic” BINGO song. Instead of There was a farmer had a dog, and Bingo was his name. Oh, B-I-N-G-O...and Bingo was his name! (Thanks to Robin Hayes for helping jog my memory on the original lyrics!)
It’s now, (Something, something) God wrote a book; the Bible was its title. Oh, B-I-B-L-E...the Bible was its title!
I also a learned an extremely fun kid’s game called Upset the Fruit Basket.
The kids are named off as apples, oranges, pears, and bananas (one kid wanted to be a kiwi :-). Then the kids sit on mats (carpet squares, in this case). The leader calls out one or more fruits, and the kids have to crab walk or crawl to a different mat while the leader pulls one mat away (similar to musical chairs).
Sometimes the leader will call, “Upset the fruit basket!” Then, ALL the kids have to find new mats.
It was very fun to watch! I am grateful (although I am expected to be an example as a leader) that no one asked ME to crab walk anywhere!
My favorite quote of the evening was when another group leader joked:
“If I were playing this game, I would definitely be a pear. That’s the way my body’s shaped!
I told her, “Me, too! Except my pear body would have two mini-pickles for legs!”
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Do Dreams Relay Important Messages?
Last night I dreamed I was in a large, enclosed yard.Positioned all over the yard were several pieces of huge, adult-sized playground equipment – slides, jungle gyms, hanging bars, swings, along with fake trucks and fake buildings. I was there along with a number of other adults and some children. We were all confused about why we were there.
We took shelter in a large “play” building custom-made to look like an old fashioned ghost town jail. As we talked, we tried to find a connection to why we were there. The only connection we could come up with was that one of the children was my Cousin Brad’s infant son (in my dream he was about eight).
Then, instantly, I was transported to a diner. I was having enchiladas at Dairy Queen (because that’s what people have at Dairy Queen in their dreams apparently) with my Cousin Charity. She was telling me how our waitress used to be an old high school friend with whom I had fallen out of touch (this is true in real life).
Charity then proceeded to tell me that she (Charity) had told this girl that I hated her (this girl) and that I would rather DIE than be friends with her.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded.
“Because I wanted you to reconnect with her, and I knew you couldn’t handle her thinking that about you, so you’d at least go talk to her and straighten it out,” she said.
Which actually makes a lot of sense if you think about it – I mean, for a dream and all.
At that point, our waitress came over to take our order (Again? We’d just had an entire 8 x 13” pan of enchiladas.) and let me know how mad she was at me.
“My mom’s mad at you, too,” she said, pointing a finger to the cashier behind the Dairy Queen counter. It was her mom! (In real life, her mom’s past retirement age!).
I had a brief flashback to the adult-sized playground, where I was laying on my back in the ghost town jail building reading a book.
Then my dream was over.
I tried to find hidden messages, as I do in all my dreams, but this one was a little hard to translate.
I think the important message was that I need to reconnect with this childhood friend. I have been thinking about her a lot lately. I know she lives in town, attends a church I know, and now has several children of her own.
We fell out of touch when I was in college, because my boyfriend at the time (now my husband) and I didn’t really like the lifestyle her new husband (they’d gotten married right out of high school) was leading.
It was an immature response, and since that time, we’ve both come to be ashamed at how we acted, deserting them when perhaps that was the very reason God had placed us in their lives.
I’ve always felt bad about that, and when I had the chance to rectify it about a year and a half ago – running into her at Beef-a-Roo – I fowled it up badly by dismissing her. I was actually just insecure about myself, but I handled it poorly.
And I lamented my actions afterward. If I could have kicked myself, I would have.
So, if I’m parsing my dream correctly, perhaps this is the time to call her and see if she wants to reconnect.
Perhaps, somewhere in Rockford, there is an adult-sized playground where we could go and talk.
Any other interpretations?
P.S. – I think the “ghost town jail” comes from watching too many promos for the upcoming Kid Nation show. Just a theory.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Tiny Tidbit (Tad Bit Late)
This is old news to some of you, but I totally (don’t know HOW) forgot to blog about it!
My new second cousin (born to my cousin Jason and his wife Jennifer) Autumn Elizabeth joined us on August 20, 2007. This means she will share a birthday with my oldest aunt, Linda; my youngest aunt, Laurie; and ME!
The August 20th birthday tradition now spans THREE generations in the Rehfeldt family.
Way to carry on the family tradition, Autumn!
And welcome to our family. We’ll love you like crazy, because (let’s face it) we’re all a little crazy ourselves!
My new second cousin (born to my cousin Jason and his wife Jennifer) Autumn Elizabeth joined us on August 20, 2007. This means she will share a birthday with my oldest aunt, Linda; my youngest aunt, Laurie; and ME!
The August 20th birthday tradition now spans THREE generations in the Rehfeldt family.
Way to carry on the family tradition, Autumn!
And welcome to our family. We’ll love you like crazy, because (let’s face it) we’re all a little crazy ourselves!
Thanks to Wendy!
I would just like to thank Wendy for showing me how to insert hyperlinks! As you can see from my previous post, this will a great tool for me.
Way to be a teacher, Wendy! Oh wait, you ARE a teacher! Way to follow your calling!
Way to be a teacher, Wendy! Oh wait, you ARE a teacher! Way to follow your calling!
Breakfast and Bible Hour Reviewed! Plus Two New Movies!
Not much time to blog! Just a quick weekend wrap-up.
I wasn’t planning anything special on Friday night, but Angie e-mailed me last minute, and we were able to squeeze in two movies.
Stardust was on the Five Buck Club movie list. It was SO good. Great acting turns by Michelle Pfeiffer, Claire Danes, and Robert DeNiro.
The second movie was the totally rocked-out western remake of 3:10 to Yuma. Neither Angie nor I are into angry man Russell Crowe, but he did a great job, and we both agreed that you can grunge up Christian Bale, amputate his leg, and STILL cannot hide his amazing genetics! But, in the case of this movie, he also turned in a strong performance. Really great movie for action freaks like me and Angie.
Brett and I slept in most of Saturday. Well, he slept, and I got about halfway through my NEW (old) book The Bone Yard by Scottish author Paul Johnston. It’s part of his Quintilian Dalrymple series. I love reading in bed!
Saturday night we finally filled up our fridge with a fun grocery trip to Wal-Mart. I’m not being sarcastic. We took our time perusing the aisles and had as much people watching (and commenting) as we did shopping.
Sunday was the premiere of Morning Star’s Bible and Breakfast Hour. We were impressed. I was mostly impressed because they had raspberry yogurt which is my second favorite yogurt (after peach…nothing beats peach). Most business breakfasts I attend only have strawberry (yeech) and strawberry banana (ick). So, kudos to the breakfast committee for breaking the taste barrier. YUM!
They also had hard-boiled eggs which Brett loves. At least, I think they were hard boiled. Seeing as I stay as far away as possible from eggs, I’m guessing that’s how they were prepared. Personally, I prefer my eggs ensconced in a gooey, fudgy cake mix. Either way, Brett went back for seconds, so they definitely have his stamp of approval.
The format was wonderfully refreshing. It’s like Sunday School for the whole family! Mr. Jeremy (of Kids 4 Truth fame) was the moderator. The other men on the panel were Ed Foster, Chris Metras, and Pastor.
Jeremy, who may have missed his calling as a game show host or presidential debate moderator, kept the conversation hopping as Ed discussed the famed (and now-I-know-he’s-dead-stop-laughing-already-Aaron) C. H. Spurgeon.
Pastor taught on Angelology, and I learned a thing or two about how angels are at work in our everyday lives. This was a part of the new format I especially enjoyed.
While I would never raise my hand in the middle of a Sunday School Lesson to ask a question, Jeremy (as the discussion moderator) expressed my own concerns when he interjected that he was always a little suspicious when people talked about angels. Pastor was able to answer him (and, by extension, me), and I really felt like I understood what was being taught.
Chris Metras called all the kids up front and taught a lesson on listening to God. Brett and I especially enjoyed this part of the hour, since we don’t have kids of our own. It was like eavesdropping on a kids' Sunday School lesson. We loved hearing the kids’ responses to Chris’ questions, including several which made the whole congregation chuckle!
Afterwards, pastor preached a stirring message on Hebrews 12, Esau, and repentance.
I got hit with a major migraine (which seems to happen every time the temperatures shift) at around 4:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon, so I spent the rest of the day in bed.
Although, I was thinking that if I HAVE to get a migraine, I’d rather not have it on a Saturday or during a work day, so late Sunday night is the best…although I hated not being able to go to evening services, especially after such an amazing morning.
Brett was sweet as could be – he gave me a massage and brought me Peanut M&M’s and Diet Coke. Awww….
And now, it’s back to the grindstone. Ready or not, here comes another week!
I wasn’t planning anything special on Friday night, but Angie e-mailed me last minute, and we were able to squeeze in two movies.
Stardust was on the Five Buck Club movie list. It was SO good. Great acting turns by Michelle Pfeiffer, Claire Danes, and Robert DeNiro.
The second movie was the totally rocked-out western remake of 3:10 to Yuma. Neither Angie nor I are into angry man Russell Crowe, but he did a great job, and we both agreed that you can grunge up Christian Bale, amputate his leg, and STILL cannot hide his amazing genetics! But, in the case of this movie, he also turned in a strong performance. Really great movie for action freaks like me and Angie.
Brett and I slept in most of Saturday. Well, he slept, and I got about halfway through my NEW (old) book The Bone Yard by Scottish author Paul Johnston. It’s part of his Quintilian Dalrymple series. I love reading in bed!
Saturday night we finally filled up our fridge with a fun grocery trip to Wal-Mart. I’m not being sarcastic. We took our time perusing the aisles and had as much people watching (and commenting) as we did shopping.
Sunday was the premiere of Morning Star’s Bible and Breakfast Hour. We were impressed. I was mostly impressed because they had raspberry yogurt which is my second favorite yogurt (after peach…nothing beats peach). Most business breakfasts I attend only have strawberry (yeech) and strawberry banana (ick). So, kudos to the breakfast committee for breaking the taste barrier. YUM!
They also had hard-boiled eggs which Brett loves. At least, I think they were hard boiled. Seeing as I stay as far away as possible from eggs, I’m guessing that’s how they were prepared. Personally, I prefer my eggs ensconced in a gooey, fudgy cake mix. Either way, Brett went back for seconds, so they definitely have his stamp of approval.
The format was wonderfully refreshing. It’s like Sunday School for the whole family! Mr. Jeremy (of Kids 4 Truth fame) was the moderator. The other men on the panel were Ed Foster, Chris Metras, and Pastor.
Jeremy, who may have missed his calling as a game show host or presidential debate moderator, kept the conversation hopping as Ed discussed the famed (and now-I-know-he’s-dead-stop-laughing-already-Aaron) C. H. Spurgeon.
Pastor taught on Angelology, and I learned a thing or two about how angels are at work in our everyday lives. This was a part of the new format I especially enjoyed.
While I would never raise my hand in the middle of a Sunday School Lesson to ask a question, Jeremy (as the discussion moderator) expressed my own concerns when he interjected that he was always a little suspicious when people talked about angels. Pastor was able to answer him (and, by extension, me), and I really felt like I understood what was being taught.
Chris Metras called all the kids up front and taught a lesson on listening to God. Brett and I especially enjoyed this part of the hour, since we don’t have kids of our own. It was like eavesdropping on a kids' Sunday School lesson. We loved hearing the kids’ responses to Chris’ questions, including several which made the whole congregation chuckle!
Afterwards, pastor preached a stirring message on Hebrews 12, Esau, and repentance.
I got hit with a major migraine (which seems to happen every time the temperatures shift) at around 4:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon, so I spent the rest of the day in bed.
Although, I was thinking that if I HAVE to get a migraine, I’d rather not have it on a Saturday or during a work day, so late Sunday night is the best…although I hated not being able to go to evening services, especially after such an amazing morning.
Brett was sweet as could be – he gave me a massage and brought me Peanut M&M’s and Diet Coke. Awww….
And now, it’s back to the grindstone. Ready or not, here comes another week!
Friday, September 07, 2007
Amazing Aaron & Lovable Linda
Things are pretty ho-hum and finally starting to settle down after the excitement from Grandma’s 90th birthday which included seeing long-lost family-friends and a last minute round of speed cleaning.
My favorite part of last week’s activities was being able to visit in-depth with my cousin, Aaron, and his wife, Linda, who live in Michigan with their four children.
Brett and I love Linda and Aaron. They are the kind of friends you constantly wish lived closer. All the time. You may have, on occasion, even prayed for such a thing. If you were us, that is.
I didn’t always like Aaron. For one thing, he was two years older than me. He was ALSO friends with Charity who I didn’t really like at that point in my childhood, either.
I didn’t really even get to know Aaron very well, since his dad packed the whole family up and moved to Watertown, Wisconsin when we were both young kids.
In the intervening years, I could never understand it when my mom would say, “I’m so glad Jan and Darryl have Aaron! Michelle and Michael are such complacent children, and now that they have Aaron, they understand what it is to have a challenge.”
She’d pause a moment, look at me, and say, “Like we do.”
Just what was THAT supposed to me, I used to wonder. After all, I was NOTHING like Aaron.
Every time we visited Watertown, I would see Aaron with a different tall, slender blonde “girlfriend.” Somehow that incensed me. He seemed to perpetuate the Christian-school “player” mentality of a big fish in a small pond.
In retrospect, I may have unfairly transferred a bit of my Christian-school-all-boys-are-chauvinistic-jerks experience onto him.
Just maybe.
I graduated and went off to college, not knowing (or caring) much about Aaron. By this time, Charity and I had become quite good friends. We wrote back forth to each other while I was in college, but rarely talked on the phone. So, I was surprised when she called and asked me if I would fly to Philadelphia to visit Aaron. Aaron was living there while he attended seminary.
“He’s pretty depressed,” she told me. “He doesn’t have any family down there, and he sounds lonely.”
I remember thinking, “Oh what? Is there a shortage of tall, blonde girls he could hang out with?”
But, Charity had her heart set on going, so I relented, and the two of us flew to Philly to see Aaron.
When he saw us at the airport, I noticed an immediate change from the boy I’d known in high school. He was a man now. He was thrilled to see us both, and I think a little flummoxed that we’d flown the distance to see him.
We spent the week at his apartment while he went to school during the day and worked at night. Every hour he wasn’t scheduled or sleeping, he spent with us. We decorated his spartan apartment with products from a nearby IKEA, went grocery shopping for a “deluxe” Italian dinner, and played card games with toilet paper squares.
Before we knew it, the week had flown by. And I had become friends with Aaron. The three of us, young adults now, were finally good friends.
The next few years flew by, and I kept up with Aaron sporadically, through Charity, mostly. Aaron finished seminary and became a pastor. I heard that he had found “the one.” And I prepared myself to meet a “tall, blonde girl” who stole Aaron’s heart.
Boy, was I surprised!
I was introduced to Linda (who is not tall OR blonde but a beautiful redhead) and understood immediately why Aaron was smitten.
Linda is one of those rare people who manage to be a relatable, kind, and good friend who doesn’t drive you crazy with her goodness. Even though you know deep down in your heart that YOU could never be that good, you appreciate all her qualities and the fact that she is your friend, even though you suspect that if you were her, you’d steer clear of you.
If you know what I mean.
It’s sort of an indescribable yet wonderful quality.
The four of us got along almost immediately. Brett and Linda are born listeners. Aaron and I are born talkers. So, Linda and I hit it off, and so did “the guys.”
And now I finally see myself in Aaron.
In fact, sometimes, I feel like if I had been a guy, I would have turned out a great deal like Aaron. We find ourselves saying the same thing, often at the same time, when we are together. And (I suspect) our spouses share knowing glances over our heads when we’re not looking.
Linda has said numerous times that she’s glad to know me, since I “explain” a lot about Aaron. I’ve put to rest her wondering why Rehfeldts constantly interrupt (because we are afraid we are going to forget our comment if we don’t say it RIGHT THEN!) and tend not to listen.
I remember talking to Aaron on the phone once. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Boy, does Aaron talk a lot. I could hardly say anything.” I commented to my husband as I hung up the phone.
“Really?”
I think he may have said something else just then, but I was too busy talking to notice.
Aaron and Linda have become good friends, not just because we get along and make each other laugh. They’ve also inspired us to godliness with long, thought-provoking talks and discussion.
Linda, especially, has taught me a great deal about how I can be a better person – in life and in Christ. Together, they’ve become kindred spirits to us, flawed as we are, and their friendship has come to mean a great deal to us.
I guess what I’m trying to say, is that now when Mom or Aunt Jan say I’m “being like Aaron” –
I take it as a compliment.
My favorite part of last week’s activities was being able to visit in-depth with my cousin, Aaron, and his wife, Linda, who live in Michigan with their four children.
Brett and I love Linda and Aaron. They are the kind of friends you constantly wish lived closer. All the time. You may have, on occasion, even prayed for such a thing. If you were us, that is.
I didn’t always like Aaron. For one thing, he was two years older than me. He was ALSO friends with Charity who I didn’t really like at that point in my childhood, either.
I didn’t really even get to know Aaron very well, since his dad packed the whole family up and moved to Watertown, Wisconsin when we were both young kids.
In the intervening years, I could never understand it when my mom would say, “I’m so glad Jan and Darryl have Aaron! Michelle and Michael are such complacent children, and now that they have Aaron, they understand what it is to have a challenge.”
She’d pause a moment, look at me, and say, “Like we do.”
Just what was THAT supposed to me, I used to wonder. After all, I was NOTHING like Aaron.
Every time we visited Watertown, I would see Aaron with a different tall, slender blonde “girlfriend.” Somehow that incensed me. He seemed to perpetuate the Christian-school “player” mentality of a big fish in a small pond.
In retrospect, I may have unfairly transferred a bit of my Christian-school-all-boys-are-chauvinistic-jerks experience onto him.
Just maybe.
I graduated and went off to college, not knowing (or caring) much about Aaron. By this time, Charity and I had become quite good friends. We wrote back forth to each other while I was in college, but rarely talked on the phone. So, I was surprised when she called and asked me if I would fly to Philadelphia to visit Aaron. Aaron was living there while he attended seminary.
“He’s pretty depressed,” she told me. “He doesn’t have any family down there, and he sounds lonely.”
I remember thinking, “Oh what? Is there a shortage of tall, blonde girls he could hang out with?”
But, Charity had her heart set on going, so I relented, and the two of us flew to Philly to see Aaron.
When he saw us at the airport, I noticed an immediate change from the boy I’d known in high school. He was a man now. He was thrilled to see us both, and I think a little flummoxed that we’d flown the distance to see him.
We spent the week at his apartment while he went to school during the day and worked at night. Every hour he wasn’t scheduled or sleeping, he spent with us. We decorated his spartan apartment with products from a nearby IKEA, went grocery shopping for a “deluxe” Italian dinner, and played card games with toilet paper squares.
Before we knew it, the week had flown by. And I had become friends with Aaron. The three of us, young adults now, were finally good friends.
The next few years flew by, and I kept up with Aaron sporadically, through Charity, mostly. Aaron finished seminary and became a pastor. I heard that he had found “the one.” And I prepared myself to meet a “tall, blonde girl” who stole Aaron’s heart.
Boy, was I surprised!
I was introduced to Linda (who is not tall OR blonde but a beautiful redhead) and understood immediately why Aaron was smitten.
Linda is one of those rare people who manage to be a relatable, kind, and good friend who doesn’t drive you crazy with her goodness. Even though you know deep down in your heart that YOU could never be that good, you appreciate all her qualities and the fact that she is your friend, even though you suspect that if you were her, you’d steer clear of you.
If you know what I mean.
It’s sort of an indescribable yet wonderful quality.
The four of us got along almost immediately. Brett and Linda are born listeners. Aaron and I are born talkers. So, Linda and I hit it off, and so did “the guys.”
And now I finally see myself in Aaron.
In fact, sometimes, I feel like if I had been a guy, I would have turned out a great deal like Aaron. We find ourselves saying the same thing, often at the same time, when we are together. And (I suspect) our spouses share knowing glances over our heads when we’re not looking.
Linda has said numerous times that she’s glad to know me, since I “explain” a lot about Aaron. I’ve put to rest her wondering why Rehfeldts constantly interrupt (because we are afraid we are going to forget our comment if we don’t say it RIGHT THEN!) and tend not to listen.
I remember talking to Aaron on the phone once. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Boy, does Aaron talk a lot. I could hardly say anything.” I commented to my husband as I hung up the phone.
“Really?”
I think he may have said something else just then, but I was too busy talking to notice.
Aaron and Linda have become good friends, not just because we get along and make each other laugh. They’ve also inspired us to godliness with long, thought-provoking talks and discussion.
Linda, especially, has taught me a great deal about how I can be a better person – in life and in Christ. Together, they’ve become kindred spirits to us, flawed as we are, and their friendship has come to mean a great deal to us.
I guess what I’m trying to say, is that now when Mom or Aunt Jan say I’m “being like Aaron” –
I take it as a compliment.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Back to Blog
Don’t you hate it when you’re too busy to blog?
Stuff comes up, and you can’t wait to write about it, and then it’s over. You’re exhausted, and then (after an hour or two) you completely forgot what was so important.
That’s how this past week was for me. I was so busy cleaning, hostessing, and attending get-togethers that I didn’t have time (or excess energy) to blog.
Still, I missed you all so much, and it’s nice to be back in a routine.
Here’s a fast preview from my blogging break:
Wednesday – Cleaned the guest room, guest bathroom, and main floor
Thursday – More cleaning, grocery shopping, house guests arrived at 9:30 p.m. (by this time I am walking around like an old woman – my body’s not used to cleaning!)
Friday – Trip with Sturgill Crew to Edward’s Apple Orchard, cook-out at Mom’s with assorted family members and friends
Saturday – Grandma’s 90th birthday party at Aunt Louise’s (over 115 family members attended!), house guests head back to Michigan
Sunday – RECOVERY!!!
Monday – Say goodbye to the Boehm girls (my sister-cousins) as they head back to Tennessee, spend the evening helping Mom set up slide shows for her blog.
For some photos of our Edward’s Apple Orchard trip, visit my Cousin Aaron’s blog. For photos of Friday’s cook out and Grandma’s 90th Birthday celebration, visit Mom’s blog.
I’ll blog some more (promise!) after I get a little more caught up!
Stuff comes up, and you can’t wait to write about it, and then it’s over. You’re exhausted, and then (after an hour or two) you completely forgot what was so important.
That’s how this past week was for me. I was so busy cleaning, hostessing, and attending get-togethers that I didn’t have time (or excess energy) to blog.
Still, I missed you all so much, and it’s nice to be back in a routine.
Here’s a fast preview from my blogging break:
Wednesday – Cleaned the guest room, guest bathroom, and main floor
Thursday – More cleaning, grocery shopping, house guests arrived at 9:30 p.m. (by this time I am walking around like an old woman – my body’s not used to cleaning!)
Friday – Trip with Sturgill Crew to Edward’s Apple Orchard, cook-out at Mom’s with assorted family members and friends
Saturday – Grandma’s 90th birthday party at Aunt Louise’s (over 115 family members attended!), house guests head back to Michigan
Sunday – RECOVERY!!!
Monday – Say goodbye to the Boehm girls (my sister-cousins) as they head back to Tennessee, spend the evening helping Mom set up slide shows for her blog.
For some photos of our Edward’s Apple Orchard trip, visit my Cousin Aaron’s blog. For photos of Friday’s cook out and Grandma’s 90th Birthday celebration, visit Mom’s blog.
I’ll blog some more (promise!) after I get a little more caught up!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)