Denial- or "Im not missing you at all, since you've been gone.."

Since a picture is worth 1.000 words and I've left so much I wanted to say unsaid- neglecting this blog for so long-
 I'm gonna restart with pictures- cuz I badly need to see them right now!

While I've had a crazy, busy summer, with lots of travel- this last week has been, in part, settling back home.  Home for me has been Sylmar most of my life.  Sylmar. Sylmar is to the San Fernando Valley as maybe  Oxnard is to Ventura County.  Or Fresno to the wine country in mid California.  Venice beach to Malibu.  Sort of looked down on, sort of wrong side of tracks, sort of conglomeration of a very eclectic group of mavericks.  Sylmar.
It was told that Sylmar was named after the vast amount of Olive groves covering it's frame. Sylmar means Silver Seas, they say, because of the waves of silver that brushed the sky as the wind blew up the undersides of the olive leaves. I've seen the wind do that, having grown up in an olive grove. It really is pretty, although I took it for granted as a kid.
The fact that my family owned the grove and ran the local olive mill has always made me feel more rooted here than maybe most. Like I have a stake in the soil.  You see one of the remaining trees in the shot of my backyard above.  The fact that my Papanan- Italian for grandpa- came over in 1909 and, upon seeing the Silver Seas, reminding him of his home in Italy, settled here put another peg in it's soil for me.
Flanked on the North to the East with mountains, being a foothill town of the valley, Sylmar has morphed over the years from country to suburb. But it has stubbornly clung to it's roots.  Having lots of big lots zoned for horses, you will always see in Sylmar the riders going down the streets, and up along the sides of the hill.  Only then they were plain white men and women out for a ride on a modest small stable horse or pony. Now they are mostly vaqueros in their sombreors riding anything from stable horses to beautiful prancing Andelusians ( no really-right here in Sylmar!!!!)  But just to add that Sylmarian flair- they have often been seen talking on cell phones as they ride!

All of this was just to let you know 2 things I saw today- and I knew I was back in Sylmar. The first was a  calmly singing elderly, gray-haired gentleman in a  cap riding down the road on a 10 speed which was pulling a grocery cart by a thin cord about 7 feet long. He had to keep a steady enough speed to prevent the cart from rolling into him, but seemed to be quite up for the task.
Then a little farther down the road 2 teen aged boys mounted their skateboards gingerly, with their guitars in hand, to cross the street.   Sylmar.
I don't know why, but I almost feel proud when I announce that we really don't have anything here in terms of big time entertainment. No theater, no mall, (you really can't count the old Sylmar square which has  mostly turned into a mini-swap meet.  We don't even have a Starbucks, I boast.  But we have 2 very funky coffee shops, and our Veteran's Park near the foothills not only has an awesome cactus garden, but a Frisbee golf course that winds it's way through a misplaced stand of tall pine trees.
My motive in downplaying Sylmar is to keep others from moving in, thus keeping the housing market in reasonable range- so that rif-raf like me can still afford to move here. :<)
Admittedly, it has definitely changed, and has it's slummy streets- mostly the main streets.  But there are pockets of  quiet, nice neighborhoods still being guarded by some of the remaining old olive trees. Sort of like the faithful old servant who, upon being retired, said, "No, I like it here with you. I think I'll stay."
(And now I will end this post with a preposition.)
I once saw a sign that said, "Oxnard. Not just another pretty name!"  I think I could say the same about Sylmar, with all the insincerity I can muster!

Sometimes Kindergarteners Make me sick

I'm gonna have to change the names in this post to protect the diseased as well as the fakers.
Last week Brent was walking next to me and looked upset.
"What's wrong, Brent, don't you feel good?" I ask.
Brent then grabs his stomach and sort of doubles over. Is he faking, did I ask a leading question, or what?
But then he went into crying.  Now Brent has really only broken down and cried about 4 times in the last year, which is almost stoic for the average 5 year old. So I start to believe him. By the time we get in the room, he's doubling over, I have him over the wastebasket, just in case. ( I know, not the most nurturing thing- but you try keeping 23 others out of the barf when it spews, ok?)
And I send him with a note to the office, telling of how he's suffered.1 hour later, Drent is back in my room, good as gold.
Monday, similar thing happens with Natalie, only this time I didn't ask first. When she said she had to throw up, I set her near the trash can and began to write another note. Only this one got better right before recess.  Aha- I think,  "when recess makes them better, forgetaboutit!!"
 ( Italian for forget about it )!
Then, next day, another child was out, then came back- said she'd thrown up.
Would've ignored it all and chalked it up to nerves, except that, in the middle of my doing some classwork, I suddenly felt cramped up with pain.  Hurt like  H... , then, after about a half hour, was gone.  Came back that afternoon.  Next day fine, then hit again.  By yesterday afternoon, all I wanted was  for my stomach to stop hurting and go to bed.
I 'm stretched in thinking how this fits with giving thanks always. Well, the other Kindergarten teacher, when I told her about it said, "You are lucky. I threw up for 2 days last week." There's one blessing.  And I gotta say, I do give thanks that I was kind and appropriate to Brent,( I did ask him to  barf in the trash can nicely) even if the office does now think I'm a sucker!

Cave Dwellers

I had  a friend tell me something that has gotten stuck in my head a couple of months ago. He said there was a Word that  the speaker said about somebody who'd been hiding in a cave, and how God was calling them out.  He felt like it applied to him. After a month of wondering, of wondering what was my friend was  hiding from, what pains might have made him go there, and how does one come out again- it came back to me.  Always seems to, don't ya know!

( MY very bad Danish accent- don't ya know?)

 Some people's caves are obvious. Drugs, alcohol, massive overeating, TV, Internet addiction. Their caves can be their living rooms.  The walls of some of us others might be made of activities. Some very good activities- Church services, classes, hobbies, etc.

 I know a guy at the gym who spends  a couple hours a night at one gym, then takes off to another gym with other classes.  A short guy- he's admittedly built like a mini-Mac truck. But I digress.( love that word!)

Even though most people who know me will attest to the fact that I am an extremely busy and highly social person, there are parts of me that I think have hidden out in a cave.
I have so much I want to do, so much of life I desire to experience, but don't do them. The dreams, the big visions that God puts on our hearts- the higher callings that we all feel- like the far off call of the wolf at the moon. Or the wondering- what really is my purpose- my big calling in life?
For me- right now- to teach primary school.   To  start a small woman's group at Church.
All good- all where God has me now.   But I feel there's more......

 The log in my eye demands attention.What are the walls of my cave made of? Old school  friends, new school friends, family, book club, exercise, plays, school committees, other family, Church, Internet. I think mine is a mod-podge of many activities.  And why am I there? Fear? Fear of success, fear of failure, or just plain distractability. Distracted by the immediate, not leaving time to plan for the future.

I think now of Lazarus. Jesus called him out.  But then he turned to the ones around him and said, "Now you unwrap him."  I think we are all responsible to go before God and answer His call to come out of our caves. But I think it takes relationship- relationships where we get real with others and pray for each other- to really walk it out.
Just thinking.....

Dallas Willard

Went to the most amazing memorial service today. A service that made us cry, but also motivated us to want to live a life that would shine with the light and love of God- just as Dallas Willard had.  A professor at USC, international speaker, Christian philosopher,intellect and  author;  we could never quite figure out why he chose our little ex-hippie, family and blue collar worker church to go to. But we were glad.  Always friendly, gracious and down-to-earth, yet answering questions given him with such wisdom and depth that it would take months or even years to figure out what that meant.  And then it would change our lives.
Here is an example:
“A carefully cultivated heart will, assisted by the grace of God, foresee, forestall, or transform most of the painful situations before which others stand like helpless children saying “Why?” 
― Dallas Willard, Renovation of the Heart: Putting On the Character of Christ

He helped me get ahold of that after my husband died. He patiently answered questions until I got it. I love this man!
 I keep talking in the "we" vernacular. That is because so many of our church family was there- (It was held at Church on the Way in Sherman Way- and is podcast somewhere on this worldwide web.) And in this loss- we were truly a family. He had that effect. But most of all- he showed us what Jesus really looked like. Loving enemies- respecting, laughing and inspiriting us to disciplines that would change us on the inside. I fall so short- but His grace goads me on. And Dallas modeled that grace.
As was his style- Dallas gave. He gently,patiently, and with much love and humor gave his wisdom and blessings.

 I will end with the blessing- the prayer that he gave for us-it was written on a bookmark inserted into each of the bulletins:
" My Prayer for You
That you would have a rich life of joy and power, abundant in supernatural results, with a constant, clear vision of never-ending life in God's World before you, and of the everlasting significance of your work day by day.
A radiant life and death. "
Dallas Willard

If you ever want to read a great, potentially-life changing, powerful book- read Renovation of the Heart.

2 great men have graduated- passed on to the other side in the last couple of weeks..
Dallas Willard, professor, national speaker, author of Divine Conspiracy, Renovation of the Heart and several other books was one.
Dallas was a peacemaker. Working to inspire changed lives by the power of Christ and an abiding sense of knowing that He truly loves us and is committed to working in us more of that Love.
Here is one of (many) of my favorite quotes from him,
" 'Do not be afraid little flock for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the Kingdom.' Luke 12:32   It is the love of God, admiration and confidence in His greatness and goodness and the regular experience of His care that free us from the burden of 'looking out for ourselves."
 from Renovation of the Heart.
Of the other great man, John Butler, I have no quotes, although others might.  His greatness was carried out in quiet, gentle ways.  His gentle chuckle had  the power to chase away worry and make mountains into molehills.  His easy responses  put out fires of contention- bringing joy and building bridges where there could have been war and division.

 It seemed that he lived Dallas's quote, for he truly seemed to know that God loved him and took care of him, and from that flowed a love and care for others that is the true hallmark of Christianity.
John was a peacemaker.  Like the wine he made and freely gave away, he gave of the richness of a well fermented life!

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. " Matthew 5:10

Broken Frame

Awhile ago, a picture frame fell off the wall and the glass cover shattered.  I thought I cleaned it all up. But then today I found another small piece.
When I had my impacted wisdom teeth removed in my 20's it turned out that they had shattered under my  gums.  The result of that was that for several years after I would have little fragments of the tooth work their ways to the surface, finally cutting through the gum and out.
I'm  tired of having to pick up the shattered remnants of brokenness.  Thinking I was done cleaning up that mess, only to find more work to do. But thank God I could take care of it- so that no one else gets hurt b.
Because of my clumsiness, I learned some years back to praise God ( much better than cussing) when I dropped or spilled something, and look at it as an opportunity to get my floor cleaner, while getting rid of a little more excess stuff.
Thank God that His love never fails and He is always working to clean up our messes. Thank God that  in our brokenness He works more of His goodness, if we can praise Him in the midst of it.  And we end up better than before.  

Pressing in...

I have been getting this sense all year that it's time to press in to more of God. A need to be filled more with His Love, to move more in His Spirit. To be filled with Him so that I'm prepared for whatever is looming around the corner.  ( The parable of the 10 virgins: 5 had oil jars filled and ready, 5 not.)
 That it's time.
Time to be prepared.
And I find myself wondering, "What does that mean, really?"
Press. It contains so much:  to push,  to squish,  to flatten, to take out all wrinkles. It feels like a lot of straining going on.
It's the root of so many words.  Express, impress, depress, suppress.  Pressure.
So how does one press in to God.  Push into a Spiritual Entity larger than the Universes He created?  To feel like I need to impress Him with my efforts? I don't think so.
To express. To express my deepest desires, to express my heart's cry to be closer to Him, to be used by Him, to be changed into a more loving, caring image of His love and care?  I think so.
I have found in my walk with God over the past 38 years that when I draw close to Him, He draws close to me.   I learned a great song last summer that really expressed it:
The more I seek you,
The more I find you
The more I find you, the more I love you

I wanna sit at your feet
Drink from the cup in your hand.
Lay back against you and breath, feel your heart beat
This love is so deep, it's more than I can stand.
I melt in your peace, it's overwhelming

More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/k/kari_jobe/

I think I tend to make everything too hard. It's not like we can pressure God into doing something. It's like those who HUNGER, who really hunger and thirst for righteousness will be satisfied.  
And pressing in to One who  has so emptied Himself, even becoming one of us depressing  humans, because He wanted us so badly- is not an exercise in presumption. It's  an adventure into the heart of the ultimate presser-inner- the Hound Of Heaven! This is the One who has been wooing us back to His arms of Love with every sunset and sweetly singing bird. With friends and comfort and countless answers to prayers not even recognized by so many of us so much of the time. 

Such love, that I go to an old passage with a new passion, " Not that I have already attained or am already perfected, but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me...
I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.  Phil 3:12;14

Kari Jobe - The More I Seek You w/lyrics

What? ( Or , post about almost nothing

As I get older, there are ways that I get more like my mom. For instance, hearing. We used to tease Mom about the time I told her my feet hurt and her reply was, "Go to the dentist."
And we always were saying , "What?" I'm saying it more now. But you know how when people tell you about a hearing issue, and your smart-aleck reply is, "What?" Very fun, especially when they don't get it at first. (Well funny to some of us old farts...)
So, I'm standing in a long, boring line in the pharmacy, waiting. I look to my right, and I see this sign:
Hearing aides: blocks out other noises, making hearing clearer.
And I say, "What?" And laugh at myself because I've just said "what" to a product hanging on a shelf.

Some Trust in Guns, some trust in Gun Control..

This morning on way to school, I see with  a mixture of sorrow and relief that there is yet another police car circling our campus.

It seems that the issue that I never blogged about in January is back in my face. As issues arise, abuse and crisis training increase, I feel obliged to look at it again.

The Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre sent a volley of dialogue about gun control throughout the nation, in our backyards and even into the Churches.  To pack or not to pack - is that really the question?  I don't mean to minimize in throwing in  a little humor, just to lighten up a subject that is way too heavy, and close to home for me.

Some trust in guns and some trust in gun control- I don't have  enough wind in my sail to even get into that conversation.  What I do know is that my trust can't be in anything that unsure.

Since I don't have a gun, it's pointless to consider that option. So what options are there for me as a teacher in my kindergarten classroom.  I can carry a cell phone. I can put myself between a potential threat and the sweet little ones that have been entrusted into my care. I can hope that help will arrive, that the arrow will miss it's mark.

But all of that is unsure.  My trust has to be in the Lord.

I can pray.
 I can pray for God to send His angels every day. I can pray for the boldness, wisdom, and love of Christ that was shown in the High School teacher that talked the young man into giving him his gun.

And then, having done that, I  can trust. I can trust that the God that hears my prayers will answer with what I need when I need it.  I can trust that I am a public school teacher for such a time as this on purpose.  And I can trust that if it's my time to die, I can go knowing I did the right thing.  And that if it's not, nothing can take me.

I  can choose to not live in fear!

"What can we say to these things?  If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?"
"Who can separate us from the love of Christ?  Shall, tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
" For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separated us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:31, 35,38-39

 Nothing can separate us from the Love of Jesus. 

Busyness

Not knowing where to start, having never written the last blog that beat for awhile in my heart, I feel like someone who's just picked up a neglected project which has sat so long it's tangled and covered with dust.

Needing to clear time for myself in my way-too-busy life.  And this blog is one of my self things I've neglected. Like the photo album I started putting together with old pictures, which now lays in a corner of my bedroom in a ripped brown sack.  

Since December, I had a great but very busy holiday season with kids and grand kids in Oxnard, gone to a conference, gone to Sequoia, gone again to the beach 2 different weekends, gone to Santa Maria (with my Dad to see my 94 year old Father-In-Law), and gone up to Sacramento and then Chico for a wedding and quick visit with my grand kids there.  

All of this on weekends, so that I've not had a full day at home since last year.  

Whoops- I think I'm grumbling and complaining on my "Give Thanks Always" site. I'm breaking my rules. What am I complaining about?  I'm so blessed! 

What a great family, and full, busy  life I have!

I have full time work and full time busyness on top of it.

But I am just so tired.
 I have to be at work early, and parent conferences are this week, so I'd better stop it with all my grumblings about blessings.

Maybe I should just post pictures. They do a better job of telling what I've done, anyway. Only they leave out the tired part.

  I feel like the last couple of days from a 17 day whirlwind of Europe where all the museums began to look the same.