75. Listen, your stuff is talking

This is part 7 of several posts discussing Richard Foster‘s chapter on Simplicity in Celebration of Discipline.

This past week a group from our church spent four days in Manasquan, Mantoloking, and Lavalette, three towns on the Jersey Shore that were affected by Hurricane Sandy. Celebration of Discipline by Richard J. FosterOn Saturday evening we went to the coffee-house type worship at the church. The speaker was Jen, part of the praise team, who spoke passionately on the Simplicity chapter in Richard Foster’s book Celebration of Discipline.  I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe that our Maker puts things in our lives for us to learn and be amazed by them. So, I was amazed. Two other women in our group had also participated in the Celebration of Discipline book study this spring. We all looked at each other and smiled. Yes, this talk was for us.

One by one, she spoke about the practical guidelines Foster puts forth, which, if we follow them, will lead us to a life of honest simplicity. The key words here are If we follow them

Foster’s eighth guideline for practical simplicity is this: Obey Jesus’ instructions about plain, honest speech.

Jen read this one, looked at the audience and said humorously, “I’ve got this one nailed.”

I laughed along with the audience. Not because I had this one nailed, but because I know how she felt to finally come upon one of Foster’s instructions that allows you to think, “Yes! Got it!”

So what are Jesus’ instructions about plain, honest speech?

Let your yes be yes

In Matthew 5:33-37 he says : “And don’t say anything you don’t mean…Just say yes and no. When you manipulate words to get your own way, you go wrong.” (paraphrased in The Message by Eugene Peterson.) That is — No excuses, no whining, no explaining, no fancy talk, no elaboration, no maybes, no swearing… Yes, I’ll be glad to. No, I’m sorry, I can’t.

In past posts “stuff” has dealt mostly with physical stuff, perhaps because that is usually what we think of when the ubiquitous word stuff rolls off our tongue or across our keyboard. But today, let’s think of stuff  as the baggage we carry around every day, those black garbage bags that color our thoughts and our speech. Bitterness, anger, jealousy, envy — all those ugly words weigh us down and come out in our talk.

eat your words

It used to be called Diarrhea of the Mouth; now it’s called TMI. It is very difficult to claim Not Guilty on this one. Ever just want to fill the silence with talking and then realize that you are saying nothing of importance? Ever interrupt someone just to get in your two cents? Ever say something and then think, Why did I say that? Ever say, Well, don’t tell anyone this, but… Ever talk just to feel important? Ever speak of someone unkindly?

Yes, to all the above. It’s not pretty to admit.
if you can't be kind

We’ve all been in conversations when suddenly the talk takes a turn for the worse. Words spill out, awkwardness ensues, someone leans down to tie a shoe… Perhaps you were the listener? Perhaps you were the talker?

We’ve also all been in conversations when the other person stops listening. Their eyes glaze over, body language changes, they lean down to tie a shoe… And we are likely to think them rude, when we should be wondering if it could be our talk.

Listening is an art, yes, but so is speaking. And maybe we should all just shut up? My Mom always used to say,

“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything.”

I used to hate it when she said that. Behind her back, I would mouth the words and roll my eyes. But today, I’m here to say, You were right, Mom. (Are you listening?)

Those  words that spill out from our stuff? They can only get us in trouble. With our friends, with our families, with our spouses, with our bosses, with Jesus. So, Zip your lips, Think before you speak, Put a sock in it, Bite your tongue, Pray for patience, Leave the room. Whatever you have to do to keep your speech honest and upright and pleasing, just do it. For the person you’re with, and for Jesus.Don't let your words be swords

Do I have this one nailed? No, but I’m trying. And when I can’t do it myself, I can call on the one who was nailed to the cross for me.

54. Dad, smiling

March 10, 2012.

one year ago, Dad, Granddad, Pops, Sam died at the long old age of 90.

there are bad memories of that time between when his body no longer worked and when his journey here ended.

they are fading with time.

and today i’m choosing to remember him smiling.

Dad in his plane

His plane wrecked in training. Unconscious for many hours, he was never allowed to fly and given a desk job during the war. Not until I read Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand did I realize what a common occurence it was; pilot trainees died in crashes all the time.

Dad rowing

Yes, he was known to mug for the camera, especially if the photographer was someone he loved. Mom is in the boat with him snapping the photos; there are several of these “rowing the boat” pictures. They must have had fun on Lake Wallenpaupack in the Poconos where they went for their honeymoon.

Dad and Mom on New Year's Eve

It was the early sixties and they went out on the town, color co-ordinated on New Year’s Eve.

Dad and his new golf club

Golf always made him smile. He had trophies. He taught his wife and his daughters how to play (or tried to…) and shot his age when he was 82, and 84, and 85 and… He played once the summer he was 89, but could only manage 3 holes. He said he didn’t want to live if he couldn’t play golf.

Dad at Christmas

Years have gone by, daughters raised up, and grandchildren made him smile (probably more than his daughters ever did). That’s the way of grandchildren…

Dad getting his hair done

Donna did everyone’s hair for Nancy and Ron’s wedding, including Dad’s. It had been a crazy, emotional weekend with Pa dying just the day before. Everyone was missing Mom as well, though Aunt Ruth stood in for her with grace and class. We were all ready to laugh and cry.

Yes, everyone is smiling here; especially Daniel in the background. And this picture still does the trick — makes me smile every time.

Dad and RonDad and his newest son-in-law enjoy the ferry to Ocracoke Island. He was always a traveler, and he could remember the name and route number of every road he’d ever traveled.

Dad, Aunt Ruth, and Uncle B

Sister Ruth could always make him smile. What a wonderful time we all had this weekend as the family gathered to celebrate life in the house where we all grew up. Grandchildren came for miles and we all took our favorite treasures before the house was sold. The last of many summer picnics on R.D.#5.

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Yep, grandchildren always made him smile. Well…almost always. As long as they were using their dinner utensils correctly. The girls always knew how to use their forks and spoons; Casey and Daniel, not so much…

Carol and dad

…and he finally got to have his oldest daughter married in a church wedding.

Dad's 89th

Lots of us showed up for his 89th birthday party and had the weekend on the town in Pittsburgh — the Ducky tour, the Crab Shack, the inclines, Mt. Washington, Oakmont Bakery, and carrot cake.

Dad surrounded The whole clan surrounded Dad as we had a ninetieth birthday party for him over Labor Day weekend here at Apple Hill. Friends and relatives came long distances to celebrate his life.

Dad smiling

We picked this picture for his obituary, and one of his friends wrote us a note-to-make-us-cry saying how glad she was that we picked that photo. “You know,” she wrote, “he just had a wonderful smile, and I’ll always remember him smiling.”

and that’s what i’m remembering today… See ya later, alligator.

the regular Apple Hill Cottage posts will be back next week. This one just had to be written today…

50. Perfectionism, Part 1: the curse

All our lives we’re told, “Do your best.” “If you do your best, that’s all anyone can ask.”
And what, exactly, is our best?
How many times can we have a do over?
When and how do we draw the line between “our best” and OCD?
And who ultimately gives us the final grade? Friends? Lovers? Bosses? Ourselves? Society? God?
Oh my. These are such hard questions I’d better stop now and have a cup of tea. I hope you’re having one with me…

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Several events have precipitated these musings on perfectionism.

  • The Color of my Kitchen

I spent (or wasted) hours poring over paint samples. After purchasing a sample jar of Benjamin Moore Blooming Grove, I fell in love. There were even signs to let me know I’d chosen well:

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I bought a gallon at a store that shall remain nameless. I do have to say that when the mixologist opened the can to show me the paint, I said, “That’s too yellow.”
“No,” he assured me. “It’s Blooming Grove. It will dry darker.”

Blooming grove samples on kitchen wall
On the wall is the paint from the sample can. The cabinet door is divided in half–the bottom is the sample can; the top is from the gallon that would dry darker.
I have struggled with this. I don’t want to be the whiny perfectionist lady customer demanding a new gallon be mixed because it isn’t exactly right.
Nevertheless, one can plainly see that it isn’t  exactly right.
Does God want me obsessing over a paint color, because, in the scheme of the universe, paint color just isn’t that important. I know this. Where does the line fall here?

  • The Last Glitch in the Kitchen Window Process

Two weeks ago we were ready to put up the windows in the kitchen. The left side just had to be finish coated and we were ready to go. As I sat down to paint them (paint poured and brush dipped) I could see that the primer on the glazing wasn’t sticking. So instead of finish coating, I spent the next three hours peeling little strips of paint/primer off the glazed window panes.
There are no photos of this event.
And then instead of putting up windows, we were back to priming/drying/painting/drying.
It was discouraging.
And I wondered as I was sitting on the floor in the late afternoon sun peeling off little strips, “Is this normal?”
Would other people just say, “Oh for goodness sake, just paint the stupid windows and put them up!”

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I wanted to do that. But I knew it was peeling. Done poorly. Failed event. Where does the line fall here?

  • Life in General; Rehabbing a Cottage in Particular

I don’t mind little imperfections in wood or paint or people — I myself have little imperfections.
I am not a complete dorky perfectionist all the time. (The jury is still out on Mr. H.C.)
I have buried uncleaned paintbrushes in the bottom of a garbage can because A. I didn’t want to clean them, or B. I did clean them but not good enough and they dried out stiff and I didn’t want any other perfectionist who lives in the house to find them.
I mean, really, one could spend hours cleaning a paintbrush. Or peeling paint from an imperfectly primed window…Or redoing a board because it is a quarter inch off…Or choosing the right color of paint… I don’t have any answers here folks. The age old question — blessing or curse — is still a question. But I can tell you that just last week I read a quote from Thomas Merton (much wiser than I…) who said this:

We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything but beginners, all our life.

That gives me hope. So does the wise quote from Mr. H. C. who says to me all the time — there’s nothing perfect in this world.

And now I have to go demand a new gallon of paint. (Nicely, of course.)

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