Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, what do we do, we swim, swim, swim. ~ Dory, "Finding Nemo"
But what if you're already drowning? What do we do when we have swum, swum, swum ourselves so weary that we just can't swim any more?
People who have known us for a while are very aware of our God-awful luck and how it tends to keep us financially strapped. It seems every time we think we are getting our heads above water, something else is put on our shoulders to weigh us back down. For example...
In September, I discovered cold air blowing from the heater in the Nissan. It is not only difficult, but dangerous, to drive a vehicle when the windshield won't defrost. It finally would blow air warm enough to defrost once at highway speed, but even then the car never got warm. Since we had discovered earlier that she was loosing oil like a son of a gun, we took her to the shop to have both issued looked at. We were told that a gasket was weeping and the oil filter was loose ~ easy fixes ~ and the heater core was flushed. For almost $300 all was well.
Then the truck started making a knocking noise under the front end, but only when it turned. I figured it was a ball joint, but since it wasn't being driven much, and I had just paid for the Nissan, we waited just a little while to take it in. Then, 4 weeks after the first repair, the Nissan was out of oil and blowing cold air through the heat again. Since this is the car my kids are typically transported in, it is my priority when it comes to repairs. Unfortunately, with some investigation, the tech discovered the real problem can only be fixed by replacing/rebuilding the engine ~ for close to $3000. I could buy some time, though, if I was hyper-vigilant about keeping the oil level up.
We found all of this out on a Friday evening and, still being band season, couldn't pick up the car that night. So, I had arranged with the shop to pick up the Nissan the next day and leave the truck to fix the knocking. I only needed to drive the truck to work and then to the shop. Doing 70mph in the left lane on I-71, I heard a pop, felt the truck fall, and saw sparks from the corner of my eye. When I turned my head to fully see what was going on, I saw the truck's tire on the opposite side of the road, rolling along in the grass, finally stopping about a quarter of a mile away. The truck was towed to the shop, and I picked up the Nissan. $1100 later, Red had new ball joints on both sides and a new rotor, rim, and tire.
Did I mention that the Nissan started blowing cold air through the heater again? I've been limping it to the highway with minimal visibility for probably 4 weeks now since we are still trying to recoup from the last repair. I finally took it to the shop a few days ago to have the heater core flushed again, which they did at no charge as a courtesy, probably because they pity me. I've had the car back for 4 days, and now it won't start. It tries to turn over, but it just won't, even with a jump. Tim is probably going to shake his head when he sees the car waiting in the lot in the morning.
This is just a brief recap of our luck over the last 8 weeks. With almost $1500 in unexpected expenses in the last 2 months, everything we had set back to pay for Christmas is gone. My boys are at the ages where they aren't asking for many gifts, just the pricy ones, and there is nothing left to get them anything at all. I would be able to handle all of the stress of these situations much more gracefully if it weren't for the added weight of the heartbreak that I will be disappointing my boys this holiday season.
And it always happens this way. A few years ago we went through a period that makes the last 2 months look like recess during a long day at school. In a few short months, the bottom dropped out of our water heater, one of the cars gave up the ghost, our furnace started blowing cold air, and the employer who painted a fabulous picture that he was unable to deliver let me go when I called him out after 4 months of not making the money I told him during the interview that I needed to make. All of this between June and November of that year. I calculated that between repairs and loss of income, we lost around $8000 during those few months. Leanest Christmas EVER at our house.
It's been a slow road to recovery, but we're getting there. Unfortunately, every time we take 2 steps forward we seem to be shoved a mile back. And it's always right before Christmas. I really do believe in miracles. Is it wrong to pray that somehow God will see it fit to put just enough in the checking account to get the boys what they're asking for?
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Saturday, October 27, 2012
A Crude Scientific Perspective of the Afterlife
Most peoples, no matter the formality, foundation, or details of their spiritual views, believe that the ancestors who have passed on before them watch over and guide them. Call them what you will ~ guardian angels, spirit guides, whatever ~ but the idea is the same. We find comfort in the belief that loved ones continue to smile on us from the beyond.
As a Christian, I believe in Heaven, which means that I must therefore believe in Hell. However, what I believe about Heaven and Hell might differ somewhat from other Christians. I don't know that I believe in a literal place with streets made of gold and the sea of precious stone where angels in white flowing robes fly around playing harps. Nor am I convinced of a literal place of eternal fire governed by a horned, spike-tailed, red body demon with a blazing pitchfork. Not to say that the Book of Revelations got it wrong, only that Revelations was a mortal's best attempt to give words to the indescribable magnificence of the immortal.
I interpret Heaven vs. Hell on a very simple level. Heaven is eternity in the blessed presence of my loving, forgiving Savior and God, while Hell is eternity away from Him ~ regardless of the scenery.
A friend and I were talking recently about loved ones passed on and how each of us find comfort in the thought that their spirits still move in our lives. Interestingly, this friend is not a believer, but she believes in guardian angels. She mentioned that she sort of grapples with the idea, though, because she has a hard time with the ideas of Heaven and Hell.
Knowing that taking a religious slant would not encourage her to really think about it ~ she does have some knowledge of the Christian faith ~ I was inspired to take a different path.
"Would you agree with the fundamental scientific fact that matter can be neither created nor destroyed?" "Yes." "Would you agree also to the fact that humans are energetic beings?" "Yes." "So, since energy cannot be created or destroyed, the energy within this mortal body was here before our physical bodies came to be, and will continue to be here when our bodies are not, yes?" This put a thinking expression on her face. I continued, "When you strip away the religion and mysticism and take it down to the bear bones, could it be that the spirits of our loved ones are simply the energy that was once contained within their mortal bodies?"
This was an idea my unbelieving friend could wrap her brain around ~ a less fantastical concept of the afterlife, but still not one that discounted the idea of Heaven. God used what science calls energy to create His universe, and continues to use energy to govern it. Maybe the physicality of His angels is too pure for our mortal minds to comprehend, so He sends them to us in a more subtle form ~ a feeling, an awareness that someone is with us, watching us, guiding us. Is it coincidence that Christians believe that God calls us home to Him to move us to a greater "work"? Maybe this movement of energy is God's way of allowing the heavenly beings to work within the parameters that govern our earthly existence. Who's to say? But does it get one thinking?
I have little doubt that every person who reads this blog will see it differently. The self-righteous zealot or ultra-conservative Christian will probably be indignant, maybe even angry, for how dare I , as a Christian, try to suggest anything that isn't verbatim from the Bible. Someone on the fence may start the wheels of their mind turning. But the true believer will read this and think, "That's an interesting take," and be otherwise unaffected, because he doesn't need a scientific understanding to have faith, nor will any scientific rebuttal shake it.
As a Christian, I believe in Heaven, which means that I must therefore believe in Hell. However, what I believe about Heaven and Hell might differ somewhat from other Christians. I don't know that I believe in a literal place with streets made of gold and the sea of precious stone where angels in white flowing robes fly around playing harps. Nor am I convinced of a literal place of eternal fire governed by a horned, spike-tailed, red body demon with a blazing pitchfork. Not to say that the Book of Revelations got it wrong, only that Revelations was a mortal's best attempt to give words to the indescribable magnificence of the immortal.
I interpret Heaven vs. Hell on a very simple level. Heaven is eternity in the blessed presence of my loving, forgiving Savior and God, while Hell is eternity away from Him ~ regardless of the scenery.
A friend and I were talking recently about loved ones passed on and how each of us find comfort in the thought that their spirits still move in our lives. Interestingly, this friend is not a believer, but she believes in guardian angels. She mentioned that she sort of grapples with the idea, though, because she has a hard time with the ideas of Heaven and Hell.
Knowing that taking a religious slant would not encourage her to really think about it ~ she does have some knowledge of the Christian faith ~ I was inspired to take a different path.
"Would you agree with the fundamental scientific fact that matter can be neither created nor destroyed?" "Yes." "Would you agree also to the fact that humans are energetic beings?" "Yes." "So, since energy cannot be created or destroyed, the energy within this mortal body was here before our physical bodies came to be, and will continue to be here when our bodies are not, yes?" This put a thinking expression on her face. I continued, "When you strip away the religion and mysticism and take it down to the bear bones, could it be that the spirits of our loved ones are simply the energy that was once contained within their mortal bodies?"
This was an idea my unbelieving friend could wrap her brain around ~ a less fantastical concept of the afterlife, but still not one that discounted the idea of Heaven. God used what science calls energy to create His universe, and continues to use energy to govern it. Maybe the physicality of His angels is too pure for our mortal minds to comprehend, so He sends them to us in a more subtle form ~ a feeling, an awareness that someone is with us, watching us, guiding us. Is it coincidence that Christians believe that God calls us home to Him to move us to a greater "work"? Maybe this movement of energy is God's way of allowing the heavenly beings to work within the parameters that govern our earthly existence. Who's to say? But does it get one thinking?
I have little doubt that every person who reads this blog will see it differently. The self-righteous zealot or ultra-conservative Christian will probably be indignant, maybe even angry, for how dare I , as a Christian, try to suggest anything that isn't verbatim from the Bible. Someone on the fence may start the wheels of their mind turning. But the true believer will read this and think, "That's an interesting take," and be otherwise unaffected, because he doesn't need a scientific understanding to have faith, nor will any scientific rebuttal shake it.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Kairos DCI 1 ~ Final Thoughts
I have so many thoughts about this latest Kairos experience, I'm not quite sure how to sort them. I was thrilled that Kairos was finally approved at DCI and that I was called to serve the maiden team. Knowing the enemy's usual approach in spiritual attack when I serve any ministry team, I armed and prepped myself as best I could in the weeks leading up to the event. Even then it seemed as if I was getting off easy. I should have been more on my guard to realize he was just waiting for me to let my defenses down during the weekend so he could pummel me.
And yet, for all the trials and tears, frustrations and really bad first impressions, 30 women at DCI felt the love of Christ as they never have before, leaving long coveted baggage at the foot of the cross, and walked back onto the compound renewed in spirit. Knowing this, I would go through every second of every heartache of that weekend again.
Crazy? Maybe not.
One of the blessings of serving behind the scenes is getting to know the Angels. More than one of these ladies are "lifers", already having served significant time. Many of them believe that, even within the system, theirs was a path of self-destruction. And several of them believe that Kairos saved their lives. That's why they come back to serve, to share the second chance they have been given through this ministry and the Kairos community on the compound. These are the hearts that draw me into Kairos. It's the healer in me that wants to be a part of mending their spirit, soothing the wounds of their past, and encouraging them to find wholeness in their future by seeking Him in their present. Is not the revitalization of one dead soul into an eternal relationship with Christ worth a few days of war with the devil?
I must admit, though, that I was grateful that this was not my FIRST Kairos experience. Had this been my first impression of what serving was like, chances are good that there would not have been a second.
The morning of our last day in the prison, I gave my Cookie Monster manual to the upcoming team leader and said, "I don't ever want to see that book again." To which she replied, "You won't. I think I'm gonna put you at a table next time." I was so fried that it wasn't until later in the day that it dawned on me what she had really said. Had I already agreed to be on the spring team? I didn't remember having that conversation. Another teammate said she thought the upcoming leader expects that I'll be on her team. Oh...so I was being informed, not asked? That's cool. Because even if she'd asked the answer would have been an unhesitating "yes".
And yet, for all the trials and tears, frustrations and really bad first impressions, 30 women at DCI felt the love of Christ as they never have before, leaving long coveted baggage at the foot of the cross, and walked back onto the compound renewed in spirit. Knowing this, I would go through every second of every heartache of that weekend again.
Crazy? Maybe not.
One of the blessings of serving behind the scenes is getting to know the Angels. More than one of these ladies are "lifers", already having served significant time. Many of them believe that, even within the system, theirs was a path of self-destruction. And several of them believe that Kairos saved their lives. That's why they come back to serve, to share the second chance they have been given through this ministry and the Kairos community on the compound. These are the hearts that draw me into Kairos. It's the healer in me that wants to be a part of mending their spirit, soothing the wounds of their past, and encouraging them to find wholeness in their future by seeking Him in their present. Is not the revitalization of one dead soul into an eternal relationship with Christ worth a few days of war with the devil?
I must admit, though, that I was grateful that this was not my FIRST Kairos experience. Had this been my first impression of what serving was like, chances are good that there would not have been a second.
The morning of our last day in the prison, I gave my Cookie Monster manual to the upcoming team leader and said, "I don't ever want to see that book again." To which she replied, "You won't. I think I'm gonna put you at a table next time." I was so fried that it wasn't until later in the day that it dawned on me what she had really said. Had I already agreed to be on the spring team? I didn't remember having that conversation. Another teammate said she thought the upcoming leader expects that I'll be on her team. Oh...so I was being informed, not asked? That's cool. Because even if she'd asked the answer would have been an unhesitating "yes".
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Kairos DCI 1 ~ The Cookie MONSTER
I have been struggling with whether or not to write this blog. For several reasons. Most of them having to do with the fact that this entry would essentially be a confession of sorts, a confrontation with an incredibly ugly side of my personality, and a testimony to just how broken God can make us.
One of Kairos Prison Ministry's overall struggles is number of available volunteers. The time commitment is considerable, and teams often have just enough hands to be a skeleton crew. This was the first team I served that had enough volunteers for me to have assistants. This was new for me, but I was excited! I had assistants!
It felt a little weird right out of the gate since both of my assistants were much older than me, making me feel quite unqualified to tell them what to do. One had a daughter about my age. The other had grandchildren about my age. And my little old lady was quite hard of hearing. I felt like I was always yelling at her, even though we were simply having a conversation.
Over the course of team formation, I came to suspect that my little old lady was wavering in mental stability. She didn't always seem to fully understand what was being said, or she would retell the same story a couple of times. Nothing major, as long as one has the patience to tolerate it. But this was overshadowed by her huge servant's heart. All she wanted to do was help.
The weekend started off well enough. The Cookie Team got everything counted that was brought in early, carpooled to the prison and got our service space set up in the facility. Then the quirks started to emerge.
Yes, I was serving in a lead position, and my little old lady was my "underling", so to speak, but I felt like I was taking care of a puppy. She seemed to be constantly near me, to the point of being underfoot. If I was out of her sight for more than a few minutes she would come looking for me. Maybe it was because I was one of the few people wearing a watch that she continually asked me what we were doing next. It felt like babysitting a toddler.
If you haven't noticed, I am a fiercely independent person. I am incredibly frustrated by circumstances that I cannot handle alone and mandate that I ask for help, making me feel weak and dependent. I also do not gracefully handle situations in which people are overly dependent on me. A friend of mine would say this is because I have no tolerance for weakness, in myself or in others. I would say it is because I prefer to be responsible for as few people other than myself as possible. When it's only you and you make a mistake, you are the only person taking the fall. Being responsible for others and making a mistake means you take everyone else down with you by default. So feeling like my little old lady was solely dependent on me for the duration of the weekend was more than a little uncomfortable. Unfortunately, after a while, that discomfort progressed into agitation.
Friday, when we realized our lack-of-cookie situation, my little old lady asked what we were going to do. "I don't know, I haven't had time to figure it out yet." "But we have to do something." "I can't do anything until I can get to the other building to talk to the team leader." "But what are we going to do?" "I don't know." What came across as her agitation fed my already irritated state of mind over the situation. And the exchange would have gone even further downhill if I hadn't told her that I was going to ask for suggestions from more experienced team members.
By the time we left the prison Friday, tears were streaming down my face. Feeling like an absolute failure in my cookie responsibilities and the source of much hoopla and drama, having multiple people telling me how to handle the situation, combined with the concerned badgering from my little old lady left me feeling shredded.
I don't now remember how well I may have slept that night, but I did not wake up feeling rested. I felt bone-weary, naked, exposed, and at the same time wound so tight that I thought I might snap with the least provocation. Though I was relieved to see the boxes of cookies sitting by the door, I dared not let myself believe that all was well. Until those boxes made it successfully to the prison and the cookies were counted, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
Over the last couple of years, the prisons have asked Kairos to scale back the number of cookies given to the residents for health related reasons, and Kairos has willingly complied. Last year was the first weekend our team gave only one dozen instead of two. However, not all of the prisons in which Kairos serves have made this request. Knowing that our additional cookies were originally intended for a men's prison, it was possible that they were packaged in two dozens instead of one. My little old lady pointed this out on the drive to the prison.
"What if the cookies are bagged in 2 dozens?" "Then we break them out when we get there." "We don't have enough bags." "We'll make it work." "Maybe we should stop somewhere and buy some bags." "We're in downtown Dayton. We don't pass any place on the way to the prison, and I am not going to drive around a city I don't know looking for a place to buy bags." "But we need more bags. We pass a Dollar General. We could stop there." "It's 7:00 on Saturday morning. Dollar General isn't open yet." "Maybe we could find a Kroger or something." "Tell you what, if the Dollar General is open, we'll stop." (Of course, it was not.) "Maybe we can still find a Kroger or something." "How about we ask the wives (of the guys who brought the cookies) if they are packaged in one or two dozens? And we'll make it work."
Mercifully, the cookies were bagged in one dozens, my little old lady's mind was put at ease, and my blood pressure was able to drop back to normal. The rest of the day didn't exactly go off without a hitch, but the majority of the Cookie Team's responsibilities were completed, and I was able to decompress substantially. Thankfully, with our duties done, we were utilized by other service areas and my little old lady was distracted enough to not be concerned with my whereabouts and I was able to get a much needed break for everything that had been weighing on me ~ for a while.
At dinner that evening, I confessed to our team leader that my little old lady was a big factor in my melt down the day before. I told her that my little old lady is a sweet woman with a huge heart, but she is a little too intense for me at times. At which point, a confession was made to me. When the original team roster was posted, someone suggested that our team leader prayerfully reconsider allowing my little old lady to serve because her family had expressed concerns about her mental capacities. Our leader responded saying that the offer had already been made and accepted, and that it would not be right to deny her now. Our leader prayed long and hard over where to assign my little old lady to serve, and that is how she came to be my little old lady.
This information would have been very beneficial to have beforehand, I thought. I could have more mentally prepared myself for was I was dealing with, perhaps been a little more forgiving and less frustrated. But what was done was done, and we are all the wiser for it.
Sunday is always chaotic for the service teams on a Kairos weekend. We have to inventory everything (that isn't edible) that we brought in with us, get it packed and loaded onto the truck, and leave the facilities as we'd found them. I fully understand that weekend's Inside Food Coordinator in that we are both strong personalities that want to get the job done, and neither of us have problems with barking orders ~ although, I do have a hard time barking orders to people older or more experienced than myself. I was raised by my very Italian father to respect my elders. So knowing what I do about the Food Lady, I got out of the way until she told me to do something.
Once my little old lady saw that there was a job being done, she wanted to help. Bless her sweet heart. However, the weekend had been particularly stressful for the Food Lady (again, I can relate) and she was in high gear. To be completely honest, I was afraid that she might pop. The speed at which we were working was a little intense, and some of the tubs and supplies were heavy. So when my little old lady asked what she could carry I suggested that she take a break and sit this one out. But she continued to press, asking how she what she could carry. My father would back-hand me hard enough to knock me out of my chair if he'd heard me yell at my little old lady to go sit down and take a break. At that point, another team member said, "Oh, just let her carry something."
I didn't respond to this statement, believing that whatever came out of my mouth, no matter the intended tone, would not come out well. Nor did I have the time to stop in the middle of what we were doing to explain that I was not trying to be mean or demanding, though I know that's how it sounded, but that my concern was for my little old lady's safety. With her being a smaller person, and knowing the gear and frame of mind in which the Food Lady was working ~ her patience spent and agitation level seeming to be at a new high ~ I was worried that my little old lady was going to get run over, or that she might hurt herself lifting something heavy. I'd watched her nearly topple carrying something heavy earlier in the day and visions of her falling on the concrete floor were unnerving.
At last, the truck was loaded, our ares returned to their original set-up, and we moved on to the closing service. After tears and hugs and the residents were reassured that we would indeed see them again, our team parted ways and headed for home. I couldn't remember a more liberating moment than pulling out of the prison parking lot with only myself and my thoughts in the car. Yet, I still felt weighed down by the realization that the first impression I was leaving teammates and residents who'd never worked with me before was of one of my uglier sides, that I had not stood up at all let alone gracefully under pressure, and that I could quite possibly have hurt the feelings of a sweet, Christ-loving, severant-hearted old lady.
One of Kairos Prison Ministry's overall struggles is number of available volunteers. The time commitment is considerable, and teams often have just enough hands to be a skeleton crew. This was the first team I served that had enough volunteers for me to have assistants. This was new for me, but I was excited! I had assistants!
It felt a little weird right out of the gate since both of my assistants were much older than me, making me feel quite unqualified to tell them what to do. One had a daughter about my age. The other had grandchildren about my age. And my little old lady was quite hard of hearing. I felt like I was always yelling at her, even though we were simply having a conversation.
Over the course of team formation, I came to suspect that my little old lady was wavering in mental stability. She didn't always seem to fully understand what was being said, or she would retell the same story a couple of times. Nothing major, as long as one has the patience to tolerate it. But this was overshadowed by her huge servant's heart. All she wanted to do was help.
The weekend started off well enough. The Cookie Team got everything counted that was brought in early, carpooled to the prison and got our service space set up in the facility. Then the quirks started to emerge.
Yes, I was serving in a lead position, and my little old lady was my "underling", so to speak, but I felt like I was taking care of a puppy. She seemed to be constantly near me, to the point of being underfoot. If I was out of her sight for more than a few minutes she would come looking for me. Maybe it was because I was one of the few people wearing a watch that she continually asked me what we were doing next. It felt like babysitting a toddler.
If you haven't noticed, I am a fiercely independent person. I am incredibly frustrated by circumstances that I cannot handle alone and mandate that I ask for help, making me feel weak and dependent. I also do not gracefully handle situations in which people are overly dependent on me. A friend of mine would say this is because I have no tolerance for weakness, in myself or in others. I would say it is because I prefer to be responsible for as few people other than myself as possible. When it's only you and you make a mistake, you are the only person taking the fall. Being responsible for others and making a mistake means you take everyone else down with you by default. So feeling like my little old lady was solely dependent on me for the duration of the weekend was more than a little uncomfortable. Unfortunately, after a while, that discomfort progressed into agitation.
Friday, when we realized our lack-of-cookie situation, my little old lady asked what we were going to do. "I don't know, I haven't had time to figure it out yet." "But we have to do something." "I can't do anything until I can get to the other building to talk to the team leader." "But what are we going to do?" "I don't know." What came across as her agitation fed my already irritated state of mind over the situation. And the exchange would have gone even further downhill if I hadn't told her that I was going to ask for suggestions from more experienced team members.
By the time we left the prison Friday, tears were streaming down my face. Feeling like an absolute failure in my cookie responsibilities and the source of much hoopla and drama, having multiple people telling me how to handle the situation, combined with the concerned badgering from my little old lady left me feeling shredded.
I don't now remember how well I may have slept that night, but I did not wake up feeling rested. I felt bone-weary, naked, exposed, and at the same time wound so tight that I thought I might snap with the least provocation. Though I was relieved to see the boxes of cookies sitting by the door, I dared not let myself believe that all was well. Until those boxes made it successfully to the prison and the cookies were counted, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
Over the last couple of years, the prisons have asked Kairos to scale back the number of cookies given to the residents for health related reasons, and Kairos has willingly complied. Last year was the first weekend our team gave only one dozen instead of two. However, not all of the prisons in which Kairos serves have made this request. Knowing that our additional cookies were originally intended for a men's prison, it was possible that they were packaged in two dozens instead of one. My little old lady pointed this out on the drive to the prison.
"What if the cookies are bagged in 2 dozens?" "Then we break them out when we get there." "We don't have enough bags." "We'll make it work." "Maybe we should stop somewhere and buy some bags." "We're in downtown Dayton. We don't pass any place on the way to the prison, and I am not going to drive around a city I don't know looking for a place to buy bags." "But we need more bags. We pass a Dollar General. We could stop there." "It's 7:00 on Saturday morning. Dollar General isn't open yet." "Maybe we could find a Kroger or something." "Tell you what, if the Dollar General is open, we'll stop." (Of course, it was not.) "Maybe we can still find a Kroger or something." "How about we ask the wives (of the guys who brought the cookies) if they are packaged in one or two dozens? And we'll make it work."
Mercifully, the cookies were bagged in one dozens, my little old lady's mind was put at ease, and my blood pressure was able to drop back to normal. The rest of the day didn't exactly go off without a hitch, but the majority of the Cookie Team's responsibilities were completed, and I was able to decompress substantially. Thankfully, with our duties done, we were utilized by other service areas and my little old lady was distracted enough to not be concerned with my whereabouts and I was able to get a much needed break for everything that had been weighing on me ~ for a while.
At dinner that evening, I confessed to our team leader that my little old lady was a big factor in my melt down the day before. I told her that my little old lady is a sweet woman with a huge heart, but she is a little too intense for me at times. At which point, a confession was made to me. When the original team roster was posted, someone suggested that our team leader prayerfully reconsider allowing my little old lady to serve because her family had expressed concerns about her mental capacities. Our leader responded saying that the offer had already been made and accepted, and that it would not be right to deny her now. Our leader prayed long and hard over where to assign my little old lady to serve, and that is how she came to be my little old lady.
This information would have been very beneficial to have beforehand, I thought. I could have more mentally prepared myself for was I was dealing with, perhaps been a little more forgiving and less frustrated. But what was done was done, and we are all the wiser for it.
Sunday is always chaotic for the service teams on a Kairos weekend. We have to inventory everything (that isn't edible) that we brought in with us, get it packed and loaded onto the truck, and leave the facilities as we'd found them. I fully understand that weekend's Inside Food Coordinator in that we are both strong personalities that want to get the job done, and neither of us have problems with barking orders ~ although, I do have a hard time barking orders to people older or more experienced than myself. I was raised by my very Italian father to respect my elders. So knowing what I do about the Food Lady, I got out of the way until she told me to do something.
Once my little old lady saw that there was a job being done, she wanted to help. Bless her sweet heart. However, the weekend had been particularly stressful for the Food Lady (again, I can relate) and she was in high gear. To be completely honest, I was afraid that she might pop. The speed at which we were working was a little intense, and some of the tubs and supplies were heavy. So when my little old lady asked what she could carry I suggested that she take a break and sit this one out. But she continued to press, asking how she what she could carry. My father would back-hand me hard enough to knock me out of my chair if he'd heard me yell at my little old lady to go sit down and take a break. At that point, another team member said, "Oh, just let her carry something."
I didn't respond to this statement, believing that whatever came out of my mouth, no matter the intended tone, would not come out well. Nor did I have the time to stop in the middle of what we were doing to explain that I was not trying to be mean or demanding, though I know that's how it sounded, but that my concern was for my little old lady's safety. With her being a smaller person, and knowing the gear and frame of mind in which the Food Lady was working ~ her patience spent and agitation level seeming to be at a new high ~ I was worried that my little old lady was going to get run over, or that she might hurt herself lifting something heavy. I'd watched her nearly topple carrying something heavy earlier in the day and visions of her falling on the concrete floor were unnerving.
At last, the truck was loaded, our ares returned to their original set-up, and we moved on to the closing service. After tears and hugs and the residents were reassured that we would indeed see them again, our team parted ways and headed for home. I couldn't remember a more liberating moment than pulling out of the prison parking lot with only myself and my thoughts in the car. Yet, I still felt weighed down by the realization that the first impression I was leaving teammates and residents who'd never worked with me before was of one of my uglier sides, that I had not stood up at all let alone gracefully under pressure, and that I could quite possibly have hurt the feelings of a sweet, Christ-loving, severant-hearted old lady.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
A Walk in the Park
I don't have a lot, but I give what I've got. Money is usually tight, but we give when and what we can. I have the same number of hours in my day as everyone else (though I wish I could figure out how to extend that) so I gladly give the time I've got. My hair grows like a weed and is thick as a horse's tail (that's not bragging, it's truth) and I grow it long to give it for wigs. I have the same amount of blood coursing through my veins as the average healthy adult so, seeing as there always seems to be a shortage, I give a pint of B+ between tattoo parties. Unfortunately, that last one seems to be causing me some problems.
When I was a teenager suffering my first of many bouts of depression, it was suspected that I also had chronic fatigue syndrome. Because the fatigue improved as the depression did, I was told that it was circumstantial, but that I would probably likely deal with circumstantial cases of chronic fatigue all of my life. Thus seems to be the case. Severe suicidal PPD brought along its buddy chronic fatigue. Prolonged bronchitis decided that it alone wasn't enough to do me in, so fatigue settled in along with it. Burn out and fatigue to hand-in-hand anyway, but when it's the chronic variety one is truly worthless.
Over the last couple of years, the Red Cross has updated their pre-donation reading material to include a full-page disclaimer against donating if you are diagnosed with CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome). What the disclaimer does not state is whether this is due the possible side-effects to the donor or to the recipient. Since I don't have an "official" CFS diagnosis, I donate anyway as long as I feel healthy and well enough to do so ~ and my most recent ink has healed.
A few days ago, I gave blood for the first time in over a year ~ tattoos and lack of opportunity being the hold-up. When I donated last year, I was still in recovery mode from a separated shoulder, so I wasn't doing too much strenuous physical activity. I felt tired for a few days, but noting noteworthy. This year, I am training for a 10K, so running is a part of my weekly schedule. In times past, when I've donated and tried to run a day or 2 later things did not turn out well. I usually felt like I was going to pass-out very early into the run. Remembering this, I took a couple of days off from running after I gave blood. Apparently, 3 days was not enough.
My girly dr is almost on the opposite side of town from which I live, but since I only go once a year (ordinarily) I don't mind the commute. I frequently spend longer getting there than I do in the office. After the appointment, I had time to kill and went to a nearby park to run my planned 4 miles. I got through 1.5, panting and gasping most of the way. I tried to push myself through, determined to at least finish the loop I was on, but that was all the farther my body would go. Embarrassed by my lack of success, I power-walked the rest of the way to the parking lot, all the while thinking, "Obviously, my body needs every oxygen carrying red blood cell it has ever produced to keep me from getting winded."
I was bummed, to be sure, but not disappointed in myself. I am in my mid-30's, after all, and may very well need to be officially diagnosed with CFS. But I now know that I should probably allot 5-7 days to fully recoup after giving blood before I push my body the high aerobic levels.
It wasn't a total loss, though. Since the run was cut short, I still had time to kill before class, so I did yoga in the park. I must say, practicing yoga in athletic shoes on the uneven ground of a park in the wind is far more challenging than yoga on a mat or carpeting over a nice level floor in the living room, but also far more relaxing, centering, and serene. I got to meet a wonderful dog named Molly and her very social, and sweet, owners for a pleasant chat ~ an opportunity I would have missed had I been able to keep running. And I made it to school with time to check out the athletic center, which I anticipate the need to become acquainted with as the days get shorter and colder. I discovered that they have several treadmills and no time limits on use - BONUS!
When I was a teenager suffering my first of many bouts of depression, it was suspected that I also had chronic fatigue syndrome. Because the fatigue improved as the depression did, I was told that it was circumstantial, but that I would probably likely deal with circumstantial cases of chronic fatigue all of my life. Thus seems to be the case. Severe suicidal PPD brought along its buddy chronic fatigue. Prolonged bronchitis decided that it alone wasn't enough to do me in, so fatigue settled in along with it. Burn out and fatigue to hand-in-hand anyway, but when it's the chronic variety one is truly worthless.
Over the last couple of years, the Red Cross has updated their pre-donation reading material to include a full-page disclaimer against donating if you are diagnosed with CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome). What the disclaimer does not state is whether this is due the possible side-effects to the donor or to the recipient. Since I don't have an "official" CFS diagnosis, I donate anyway as long as I feel healthy and well enough to do so ~ and my most recent ink has healed.
A few days ago, I gave blood for the first time in over a year ~ tattoos and lack of opportunity being the hold-up. When I donated last year, I was still in recovery mode from a separated shoulder, so I wasn't doing too much strenuous physical activity. I felt tired for a few days, but noting noteworthy. This year, I am training for a 10K, so running is a part of my weekly schedule. In times past, when I've donated and tried to run a day or 2 later things did not turn out well. I usually felt like I was going to pass-out very early into the run. Remembering this, I took a couple of days off from running after I gave blood. Apparently, 3 days was not enough.
My girly dr is almost on the opposite side of town from which I live, but since I only go once a year (ordinarily) I don't mind the commute. I frequently spend longer getting there than I do in the office. After the appointment, I had time to kill and went to a nearby park to run my planned 4 miles. I got through 1.5, panting and gasping most of the way. I tried to push myself through, determined to at least finish the loop I was on, but that was all the farther my body would go. Embarrassed by my lack of success, I power-walked the rest of the way to the parking lot, all the while thinking, "Obviously, my body needs every oxygen carrying red blood cell it has ever produced to keep me from getting winded."
I was bummed, to be sure, but not disappointed in myself. I am in my mid-30's, after all, and may very well need to be officially diagnosed with CFS. But I now know that I should probably allot 5-7 days to fully recoup after giving blood before I push my body the high aerobic levels.
It wasn't a total loss, though. Since the run was cut short, I still had time to kill before class, so I did yoga in the park. I must say, practicing yoga in athletic shoes on the uneven ground of a park in the wind is far more challenging than yoga on a mat or carpeting over a nice level floor in the living room, but also far more relaxing, centering, and serene. I got to meet a wonderful dog named Molly and her very social, and sweet, owners for a pleasant chat ~ an opportunity I would have missed had I been able to keep running. And I made it to school with time to check out the athletic center, which I anticipate the need to become acquainted with as the days get shorter and colder. I discovered that they have several treadmills and no time limits on use - BONUS!
Friday, September 28, 2012
Kairos DCI 1 ~ The Cookie Trial
Eleven hundred dozen cookies. Half the number we have historically needed, and yet still enough to make be shun sugar until the holidays. This was one of those rare occasions when I did not so much mind my sinus problems because the smell of sugar would have been overwhelming.
By a cruel twist of fate, the last time I served as the Cookie Monster, I had a tummy bug the first 2 days of the weekend and was quite literally sick to my stomach from the smell of sugar. I curled up into a little ball with my head on the table and let my Angels take over. This time I may not have been sick to my stomach, but it could be argued that I was a little sick in the head.
Before team formation formally began, our fearless team leader contacted me to ask how many dozens I thought each team member should contribute. After computing the numbers I was given, I gave her my suggestion. When we officially began team formation, a much more experienced veteran Kairos volunteer suggested that the number I can come up with was too excessive and recommended a smaller requirement. OK, I thought, this isn't exactly her first rodeo and she knows what she's doing, so let's go with it.
I should have stuck to my guns. Even though I watched her work the numbers, they didn't seem to add up to me, but then, I've never been particularly stellar at math so I wasn't inclined to argue. I should have argued. When it came down to the day, and the final count was in, we were almost 100 dozen short of the number needed. Can you say double, triple, quadruple count? No matter who counted or how, the number was always short. And I had less than 24 hours to come up with, get approval for, and carry out a plan of action before we needed to hand out cookies to the community on the compound.
Did I mention that we discovered this little snag during lock-down and count, so I couldn't get to our team leader for almost an hour? By then, I had already talked with another teammate who had served in this capacity before and whom I thought might have some advice. We really only had 2 options: 1- break the dozens down and redistribute, or 2- there were a couple of women on the team whose husbands were on a men's team the following weekend. They were certain their husbands would be willing to contribute the cookies they had already collected as long as we could replace them once home. The accompanying glitch with this possibility was getting them to Dayton from Columbus and then into the prison since cookies were no longer on our gate pass.
When I finally got to talk with our team leader, she chose to go with option 1. Unfortunately, this did not sit well with others who then decided to set aside the simplest option and take the most complicated. I had so many people telling me how to handle this ordeal that I thought my head might explode if anyone else tried to force my brain to process any additional information.
By the time the team was preparing to leave the prison for the night, I was fried ~ and I couldn't contain the tears any longer. The dam broke, and that was all she wrote. I called Joshua after our debriefing and cried on his shoulder over the phone. Even at almost 10pm, his first response was, "What can I do to help you?" Of course, at that point, very little could be done. When I finally hung up, I took a Benedryl and 2 sleeping pills and prayed for rest.
Thus, it was decided to get the cookies from Columbus to Dayton, and the gate pass was taken care of. I felt more than a twinge of guilt knowing that these ladies couldn't contact their husbands until we were out of the prison, around 830pm, and then they would still have to round up the goods and deliver them. It was going on 1230 by the time they got to Dayton, and they still had to drive back home. God bless loving husbands.
There were other complications with the cookies that weekend, as well. Because we didn't have the freedom to move around on the compound, for the sake of ease, we needed to pre-count before we took the cookies to other locations. It didn't matter who counted how many times, the count seemed to be short every time. Yeah, not only was our overall count short, every immediate need count seemed to be short, too.
I don't see why our team leader didn't fire me. I was obviously woefully screwing up this job, could never seem to get a grip on it this time around. A plethora of factors contributed to my seeming lack of competence, not the least of which being exhaustion, but I have to believe a big part of our struggle ~ in my area of service and all of the others ~ was due largely to Satan being pissed that God's work was happening at DCI. Nothing like serving as the hands and feet of Christ to invite some serious attack from the evil one.
Attack he did. I am embarrassed to confess that I didn't handle the situation very gracefully ~ but then, that has never been my forte. I came through this trial beaten and broken, humbled as only God can encourage, yet knowing that He had it in His hands all along. In short, Satan threw me a few curve balls, and I struck-out. Thankfully, I have a merciful umpire calling the plays.
By a cruel twist of fate, the last time I served as the Cookie Monster, I had a tummy bug the first 2 days of the weekend and was quite literally sick to my stomach from the smell of sugar. I curled up into a little ball with my head on the table and let my Angels take over. This time I may not have been sick to my stomach, but it could be argued that I was a little sick in the head.
Before team formation formally began, our fearless team leader contacted me to ask how many dozens I thought each team member should contribute. After computing the numbers I was given, I gave her my suggestion. When we officially began team formation, a much more experienced veteran Kairos volunteer suggested that the number I can come up with was too excessive and recommended a smaller requirement. OK, I thought, this isn't exactly her first rodeo and she knows what she's doing, so let's go with it.
I should have stuck to my guns. Even though I watched her work the numbers, they didn't seem to add up to me, but then, I've never been particularly stellar at math so I wasn't inclined to argue. I should have argued. When it came down to the day, and the final count was in, we were almost 100 dozen short of the number needed. Can you say double, triple, quadruple count? No matter who counted or how, the number was always short. And I had less than 24 hours to come up with, get approval for, and carry out a plan of action before we needed to hand out cookies to the community on the compound.
Did I mention that we discovered this little snag during lock-down and count, so I couldn't get to our team leader for almost an hour? By then, I had already talked with another teammate who had served in this capacity before and whom I thought might have some advice. We really only had 2 options: 1- break the dozens down and redistribute, or 2- there were a couple of women on the team whose husbands were on a men's team the following weekend. They were certain their husbands would be willing to contribute the cookies they had already collected as long as we could replace them once home. The accompanying glitch with this possibility was getting them to Dayton from Columbus and then into the prison since cookies were no longer on our gate pass.
When I finally got to talk with our team leader, she chose to go with option 1. Unfortunately, this did not sit well with others who then decided to set aside the simplest option and take the most complicated. I had so many people telling me how to handle this ordeal that I thought my head might explode if anyone else tried to force my brain to process any additional information.
By the time the team was preparing to leave the prison for the night, I was fried ~ and I couldn't contain the tears any longer. The dam broke, and that was all she wrote. I called Joshua after our debriefing and cried on his shoulder over the phone. Even at almost 10pm, his first response was, "What can I do to help you?" Of course, at that point, very little could be done. When I finally hung up, I took a Benedryl and 2 sleeping pills and prayed for rest.
Thus, it was decided to get the cookies from Columbus to Dayton, and the gate pass was taken care of. I felt more than a twinge of guilt knowing that these ladies couldn't contact their husbands until we were out of the prison, around 830pm, and then they would still have to round up the goods and deliver them. It was going on 1230 by the time they got to Dayton, and they still had to drive back home. God bless loving husbands.
There were other complications with the cookies that weekend, as well. Because we didn't have the freedom to move around on the compound, for the sake of ease, we needed to pre-count before we took the cookies to other locations. It didn't matter who counted how many times, the count seemed to be short every time. Yeah, not only was our overall count short, every immediate need count seemed to be short, too.
I don't see why our team leader didn't fire me. I was obviously woefully screwing up this job, could never seem to get a grip on it this time around. A plethora of factors contributed to my seeming lack of competence, not the least of which being exhaustion, but I have to believe a big part of our struggle ~ in my area of service and all of the others ~ was due largely to Satan being pissed that God's work was happening at DCI. Nothing like serving as the hands and feet of Christ to invite some serious attack from the evil one.
Attack he did. I am embarrassed to confess that I didn't handle the situation very gracefully ~ but then, that has never been my forte. I came through this trial beaten and broken, humbled as only God can encourage, yet knowing that He had it in His hands all along. In short, Satan threw me a few curve balls, and I struck-out. Thankfully, I have a merciful umpire calling the plays.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Kairos DCI 1 ~ The Virgin Team
I love being in prison. Of course, I go with the understanding that I will be walking out the door and returning to my family at the end of the day.
Kairos Prison Ministry captivated my attention several years ago when I first heard about it during my own Walk to Emmaus. God laid this ministry on my heart then and fuels the passion I have for it now. Historically, I have served Kairos at a women's pre-release facility in Columbus. However, the state saw it fit to shuffle the deck, and our ladies were relocated ~ some of them back to Marysville, most of them to Dayton. Unfortunately, Kairos was not at that time approved to work within Dayton Correctional.
I was not intimately knowledgable about the proceedings of cutting through the necessary red tape in order for Kairos to get into DCI, but I do know that it took the better part of a year. A year of not being able to serve the ministry or see our ladies was heartbreaking. Elated was I to be asked to serve on the very first Kairos DCI team!
Yet, I must confess, the wind was taken out of my sails just a smidgen when I was asked to serve for the second time in a row a position in which I had asked God to mercifully never place me. He has such a sense of humor. For the second team in a row, I had the honor of serving as the Cookie Monster, a.k.a. Cookie Coordinator. But hey, I thought, if this is where God wants me to serve, this is where I will serve.
Cookies are an important part of the Kairos experience ~ a never ending supply of cookies serves as a visual reminder of Christ's never ending love. Not only is there a bottomless plate of cookies sitting on the tables where these ladies spend most of their day, but participants are given cookies at the end of each of the 4 days to take back to the compound to share, and the community on the compound receives cookies as well. So cookies are everywhere, and if you are the Cookie Monster, by the time the weekend reaches its close, you never want to see another cookie again as long as you live.
When the numbers were worked, our team needed to collect 1100 DOZEN chocolate chip cookies. This is HALF of what we ordinarily need. Until recently, Kairos handed out 2 dozen cookies to each participant each day and to every resident on the compound once. Now, at the request of the prison, we only hand out 1. And I and my Cookie Team were responsible for counting every one of those cookies.
I have served Kairos twice before, and all 3 weekends I have served in a leadership position. When I tell veteran Kairos volunteers that my first weekend ever I served as Inside Food Coordinator they are usually surprised that I have opted to return. They are even more surprised when they hear that I had no team assistants. I had 2 resident Angles, inmates who have already been through Kairos and return to help facilitate, but no teammates assigned to help me because our team was so small. The last time I served as Cookie Coordinator was the same scenario ~ 2 Angles, no teammate assistants. And we made it work. This team I actually had assistants!! And I confessed to them at the get-go that I was not used to this and was unsure how to function with this much help, so they would probably have to remind me now and then that I needed to let them serve, too.
As the weekend drew closer, Satan reared his ugly, horned head, and team members across the board ran into snags and obstacles. We knew we were onto something to get him so riled. We met with the first of many collective obstacles the day we were scheduled to have our security training inside the prison and meet with our Angles. The Chaplain had called off unexpectedly, and our visit was cancelled at the last minute. We prayed right there in the prison parking lot for the Chaplain and his circumstances, and that Kairos would still be allowed to continue the following weekend without all of our team being security trained.
We serve an awesome God. We were given the green-light, and 4 days later I was headed back to Dayton, cookies loaded in the trunk, for Kairos DCI 1.
Kairos Prison Ministry captivated my attention several years ago when I first heard about it during my own Walk to Emmaus. God laid this ministry on my heart then and fuels the passion I have for it now. Historically, I have served Kairos at a women's pre-release facility in Columbus. However, the state saw it fit to shuffle the deck, and our ladies were relocated ~ some of them back to Marysville, most of them to Dayton. Unfortunately, Kairos was not at that time approved to work within Dayton Correctional.
I was not intimately knowledgable about the proceedings of cutting through the necessary red tape in order for Kairos to get into DCI, but I do know that it took the better part of a year. A year of not being able to serve the ministry or see our ladies was heartbreaking. Elated was I to be asked to serve on the very first Kairos DCI team!
Yet, I must confess, the wind was taken out of my sails just a smidgen when I was asked to serve for the second time in a row a position in which I had asked God to mercifully never place me. He has such a sense of humor. For the second team in a row, I had the honor of serving as the Cookie Monster, a.k.a. Cookie Coordinator. But hey, I thought, if this is where God wants me to serve, this is where I will serve.
Cookies are an important part of the Kairos experience ~ a never ending supply of cookies serves as a visual reminder of Christ's never ending love. Not only is there a bottomless plate of cookies sitting on the tables where these ladies spend most of their day, but participants are given cookies at the end of each of the 4 days to take back to the compound to share, and the community on the compound receives cookies as well. So cookies are everywhere, and if you are the Cookie Monster, by the time the weekend reaches its close, you never want to see another cookie again as long as you live.
When the numbers were worked, our team needed to collect 1100 DOZEN chocolate chip cookies. This is HALF of what we ordinarily need. Until recently, Kairos handed out 2 dozen cookies to each participant each day and to every resident on the compound once. Now, at the request of the prison, we only hand out 1. And I and my Cookie Team were responsible for counting every one of those cookies.
I have served Kairos twice before, and all 3 weekends I have served in a leadership position. When I tell veteran Kairos volunteers that my first weekend ever I served as Inside Food Coordinator they are usually surprised that I have opted to return. They are even more surprised when they hear that I had no team assistants. I had 2 resident Angles, inmates who have already been through Kairos and return to help facilitate, but no teammates assigned to help me because our team was so small. The last time I served as Cookie Coordinator was the same scenario ~ 2 Angles, no teammate assistants. And we made it work. This team I actually had assistants!! And I confessed to them at the get-go that I was not used to this and was unsure how to function with this much help, so they would probably have to remind me now and then that I needed to let them serve, too.
As the weekend drew closer, Satan reared his ugly, horned head, and team members across the board ran into snags and obstacles. We knew we were onto something to get him so riled. We met with the first of many collective obstacles the day we were scheduled to have our security training inside the prison and meet with our Angles. The Chaplain had called off unexpectedly, and our visit was cancelled at the last minute. We prayed right there in the prison parking lot for the Chaplain and his circumstances, and that Kairos would still be allowed to continue the following weekend without all of our team being security trained.
We serve an awesome God. We were given the green-light, and 4 days later I was headed back to Dayton, cookies loaded in the trunk, for Kairos DCI 1.
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