AllTheseThings

How a Rented Bathing Suit Opened Up a Conversation For Eternity

"You can always rent a bathing suit."  The words hung in the air like the smell of rotten fish.  Rent a bathing suit?  I'd sooner die.  And yet, there were my husband and our friends already enjoying the hot springs for which Aguas Calientes was named.  We had just finished hiking the Inca Trail for 4 days and exploring Machu Picchu.  This was our reward.

After a minute or two of watching them in the water, I sheepishly asked the Peruvian Hot Springs Policewoman where the used bathing suits were.  She pointed in the direction of a pile of $1.00 suits I swore I would never touch.  Never swear.  Moments later I was wearing what amounted to a bikini with a strip of material connecting the top and bottom and partially covering my belly. Except I have a long torso, so I had to hunch over to keep the bathing suit covering the right places.  I quickly walked to the hot springs, my friends cheering and stated, "We will never speak of this again."  I plunged into the brown water.  My English friend Sylvia assured me, "Trust me.  If you get any disease, it will be from this water... not from that suit."  That's comforting.

As it turns out, God used the $1.00 rented bathing suit and our time in the brown pool for eternity.  There, in the water, my 25-year-old London friend who was traveling the world for 8 months by herself, opened up.  For some reason, our other friends soaking with us, never came over as Sylvia shared how her Jewish mother recently became a Christian after reading the Bible.  "She seems happier and has more friends since her conversion."  Then she asked, "How about you?  Are you religious?"

"No," I answered.  "We're not religious," knowing the preconceived notions that go along with that term.  "But we do believe the Bible is true.  And my husband and I both decided years ago that Jesus is God, and we have decided to follow Him and to live our whole lives for Him."  I shared about our pastor who is Jewish and came to believe in Jesus from reading the Bible as well.  Sylvia said, "Yeah, I wonder if I should read the Bible too."  "Do you have one?" I asked.  "No, but I figure if I walk into one of these Catholic Churches in South America, maybe they'll give me one."  I told her that our pastor always says, "Follow a dead god, and you'll end up just like him.  Follow the living God, and you'll end up just like Him."  She listened carefully and never looked away.

That evening we took the train and bus back to Cusco where we said goodbye to Sylvia and the other friends from our trek for the last time.  As we hugged goodbye, I handed her a Bible wrapped up in a map of Machu Picchu.  It was our travelers' Bible.  Even before we left for Peru, my husband and I had said that maybe we'd find someone to give this to on our trip.  Did we ever.

Since then, I've heard from Sylvia on Facebook.  She thanked me for the Bible and said she's on the beach now in Lima with plenty of time for reading.  I guess that rented bathing suit was worth every penny!

Lucy

The Inspirational Winston Churchill

  As you wage whatever battle life's thrown your way this day, week, month, or year, here's a clip of Churchill.  This out to encourage and inspire you.

 

Never give in,

Thomas More

[email protected]

The Joy of...Food

Sorry about the low posting, I was on vacation and busy with work/politics of late.

This is an interesting article, wherein George Will explains how food has taken the moral position of sex in modern society.  In the 1950's people had rules about sex and ate what they wanted.  Now, we have rules about our food, but on sex, not so much.

Here's the opening salvo:

Put down that cheeseburger and listen up: If food has become what sex was a generation ago -- the intimidatingly intelligent Mary Eberstadt says it has -- then a cheeseburger is akin to adultery, or worse. As eating has become highly charged with moral judgments, sex has become notably less so, and Eberstadt, a fellow at Stanford University's Hoover Institution, thinks these trends involving two primal appetites are related.  In a Policy Review essay "Is Food the New Sex?" -- it has a section titled "Broccoli, pornography, and Kant" -- she notes that for the first time ever, most people in advanced nations "are more or less free to have all the sex and food they want." One might think, she says, either that food and sex would both be pursued with an ardor heedless of consequences, or that both would be subjected to analogous codes constraining consumption. The opposite has happened -- mindful eating and mindless sex.

The other thing to remember, especially as we've recently entered Lent--a period of fasting--is that the Church has spoken up the virtues and vices of both food and sex.  As Will concludes, so do I: 

Bon appetit,

Thomas More 

It takes a village.....

….to raise a child. Yep, we all know that one, but did you also know it takes a village to chose a boyfriend? This is what I learned last night, as I threw Mr Second Date into a party full of old and new friends.

Just to set the scene, I embarked on the first date with low expectations of a long-lasting relationship but high expectations of a fun evening. (And I never turn down a first date, based purely on their rarity. That would be ungrateful). I was pleasantly surprised to find we had more in common than I realised and the evening was a lot of fun. And, in reference to my previous post, I was thrilled that it was unmistakably a date, not a super-casual, hangout, slap-on-the-back, split-all-the checks, who-the-heck-knows-what-this-means kind of evening, which is much more common and endlessly irritating. This was a DATE. He got his hair cut. He was wearing his nice jacket. He had the evening planned out, with drinks and walks and then food. Wow! I feel the need to report this rare occasion to some tracking organisation so they know that real dates are not extinct.

Giddy from this extravagant display of romance, I invited the man in question to a party a couple of days later. He wouldn’t know anyone there, but he was brave and accepted the invitation. Not knowing him very well at this point, I thought it might be interesting to see him in this kind of environment. But I had grossly underestimated the prophetic nature of the evening. In fact, I am now prescribing a party for all second dates, as a sure fire way to find out if your fledgling relationship has legs. It’s quick and (relatively) painless and it gets the job done.

But first, this only works if you have really great friends, with copious amounts of hospitality and ideally, impeccable judgement. (Yeah, I know it’s a high bar, but do the best you can). Then just observe, as your potential sweetie-to-be works the room. I can’t tell you exactly what to expect, because as we know (ladies) there are some really weird personality traits that no-one warned us about in Dating School. These traits are invariably latent until the subject is thrown into a crowd of strangers, then POOF!, as if by magic they appear……..all at once, and in far too many possible combinations to describe here. 

So all I can say is, you’ll know by the end of the evening if you have winner or not. (And if you don’t know, your good friends will tell you the next day). As I listened to Mr Second Date screeching into the Karaoke microphone at 12.30am, I knew. A winner he was not. I’m sure some lovely lady out there will appreciate his, er, uniquely quirky and relentless sense of humor. Good luck to her. 

So, onward and upward into 2009!! And if you invite me to a party and I show up with a strange man in tow, you’ll know what you have to do.

Don’t let me down.

Philomena

[email protected]

When I was hungry, you fed me.

Last night I was manning the dessert and coffee table at a fundraiser. As people arrived they helped themselves to the treats, chatted and then slowly made their way into the church sanctuary for the concert. The music began, but I stayed at the dessert table out in the courtyard, greeting the late-comers. I didn’t mind at all. The doors to the sanctuary were wide open and I could hear almost everything .

I’d been standing there about 20 minutes when a homeless guy wandered into the courtyard and sat down about 10 feet away from me. He was bundled up against the sea breeze in a hooded sweatshirt and pushing what I think was a stroller with his few belongings in them.

It was pretty obvious that he could use a cup of hot coffee and some dessert so a few of us made him up a plate of goodies. He was very grateful.

“Is this a church?” he asked
“Yes”
“A Christian church?”
“Yeah”.

He nodded his approval, maybe more for the coffee and brownie than for the surroundings. But as he sat and ate he kept peering towards the sanctuary door, towards the singing and scriptures projected onto the back of the stage wall.

5 minutes later the brownie was pronounced “very good” and the coffee was ready for the road. He stood up, gathered his belongings and took one more long look into the sanctuary. One of the scriptures caught his eye.

“That’s what Jesus said!!” he exclaimed.
“What’s that?”
“When I was hungry, you fed me”.

He took a long look at me. I raised my coffee cup to him. He waved and headed off into the night.

How often does someone approach us with a need and we can satisfy it that easily? He was hungry, and there I was, standing behind a table laden with free homemade desserts and hot coffee! I didn't even make any of the desserts! It doesn’t get much easier than that.

 God lays out a feast for us too, and invites us to the table to have our needs met. He’s done all the work and all we have to do is approach. Then he gives us the opportunity to invite others to share in the feast. What a privilege!

Philomena

[email protected]

Done!

In the beginning, there was work. Then more work. Then even more work. Then exhaustion, leading to sleep, leading to……….more work. Does this sound familiar? Well, I hope you have all climbed off the hamster wheel for a few days to enjoy some rest with your friends and family. Tomorrow is the Sabbath, so it’s not over yet! But I suspect thoughts of Monday morning are already creeping in.

Rest isn’t as easy as I first thought it should be. “I’ll rest when the work is all done”, is what I used to think. “Then I’ll be ABLE to rest because I’ll be satisfied. I’ve earned the rest”. But, when is all my work done? When is all your work done? When are you satisfied that everything’s been completed?

In our small group study of the Sabbath, we were invited to read the account of the creation of the world. It ends,

“ By the seventh day, God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.”

Well, no wonder God was able to rest! He finished his work and even called it
“very good”. He was completely satisfied. How am I supposed to get to that point? I can’t imagine it happening anytime soon.

But God doesn’t call me to rest because of my own work, as if that was comparable to His. He calls me to share in His rest, because of His work, which is DONE! I don’t have to add to it with my own work.

Resting can still be hard, but it helps to keep my eye on the goal, which is to put my own work aside and recognise that it is irrelevant how much I still have left to do. It’s His work I can rest in, and rest right now.

Enjoy your Sabbath!

Philomena

[email protected]

Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

It’s hard to believe that today is anything other than the day after the US presidential election. But, my friends across the pond are celebrating Guy Fawkes night. As my colleague just asked, “who is Guy Fawkes?” followed by “and what is his name doing in my day planner?”. I can’t answer the second question unless she bought her day planner in the UK, but I can have a good crack at the first.

Guy Fawkes was a Roman Catholic and the lead conspirator in a plot to kill Protestant King James I by blowing up the Houses of Parliament in 1605. In the days leading up to the State Opening of Parliament on November 5th, he accumulated a large amount of gunpowder in the cellars beneath the House of Lords and was just about to light the fuse when he was found and captured. He was tortured until he confessed and gave up the names of his co-conspirators who were subsequently arrested, tried and found guilty of high treason. The punishment for this capital crime was gruesome: they were hung, drawn and quartered.

Although the importance of the monarchy in British life is becoming more and more controversial, King James’ narrow escape from death is still marked, 400 years later. On December 3rd, at the State Opening of Parliament, before the arrival of Queen Elizabeth, a Yeoman of the Guard will make a symbolic search of the cellars beneath the Houses of Parliament. Everywhere else across the country, November 5th is officially “Bonfire Night”. Until recently, children would make an effigy of Guy Fawkes (old clothes stuffed with straw like a scarecrow) and push it around the streets in a wheelbarrow, shouting “penny for the guy”. Unfortunately, in recent years the guy became less important than the penny and buying fireworks was forgotten (and forbidden) in favor of cigarettes. In 2008, children rarely go to the effort of making a guy and even more rarely try their hand at garnering donations to their allowance, but on this day every year, huge bonfires and the (official) fireworks still light up the usually cold, damp November skies.

Like Christmas, the real meaning of Bonfire Night and all it’s symbolism is gradually disappearing among the lights and sounds and food that children look forward to on November 5th. Although I can’t remember where, I was once taught the Guy Fawkes rhyme and I sincerely hope the children celebrating tonight can recite it too.

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
 I know of no reason
 Why the gunpowder treason
 Should ever be forgot

Philomena

Golden Boy

If you watched last night’s presidential debate, you may have focused your attention on the candidates’ plans for the economy, health care and education. I, on the other hand, was wondering how a plumber can make 200K+ per year. Did I hear that right? Joe makes over 200 grand?

You may think I’m jealous. Well, maybe a little, but my thoughts this morning turned in another direction. This guy’s quite a catch! He’s single, he has a good job, he works hard for his money and he’s not that bad looking either. And, as if that weren’t enough, HE CAN FIX STUFF!! This guy is golden.

So I’ll be catching the next plane out to Ohio to find Joe and pledge my undying love. I just have to ask him one quick question before “I do”:

“Who are you voting for?”

Philomena

[email protected]

Like, not love.

There’s an advertising slogan that says “Around here, you have to love what you drive”. And I do. It’s small and sporty, not unlike its owner. (Ha ha). But “my baby” as I like to call it, has in the past fallen foul of the dreaded teenagers who break windows and pull out stereos and generally make a huge mess. This lead me to do what most car owners do sooner or later, which is to install a really loud, obnoxious car alarm to alert me (and, in fact, the whole neighborhood) to such dastardly deeds. But as I sat on my balcony a few days ago, after one more evening/night/early morning of listening to various car alarms beeping, whining, screaming and whooping, I wondered if it was all worth it. I actually decided it wasn’t. I just want some peace and quiet.

It’s not as if my street is a hot-bed of car theft. I can almost guarantee that none of the car alarms I heard in the last 24 hours were caused by an actual break-in. More likely they were due to someone in the adjacent car closing their door a little too enthusiastically, or someone like me opening the door and forgetting to disengage the alarm, or in the case of my garage neighbor, due to me backing up to within 10 feet of his monstrous GMC Denali.

There’s such a thing as loving something too much. And if I can say that about my car, anyone can. I wish we could do away with car alarms and let anyone who’s that determined, just take the *&^*%$*&% thing. It’s just a car. Most of us have insurance, and if I an unfortunate enough to have to use it, I think I’ll buy something even smaller and sportier. Come to think of it, I might just leave the keys in the ignition tonight and see what happens. Ironically, we’ll all get a better nights sleep if we leave the keys in the ignition and the alarms turned off.

Philomena

[email protected]

Be afraid!

I’m not much of a linguistics expert, but I do have an unexplainable fascination with the meaning of words. I especially like long words, pieced together from other languages. It often broadens the meaning of a word, far beyond what we have reduced it down to, in our modern culture. Words become richer when we know where they came from.

So it is with my new discovery of the day: agoraphobia. I was under the impression, from popular use, that it meant a fear of open spaces. My mind conjured up pictures of vast green fields and snowy mountains, Julie Andrews twirling and singing, and someone right next to her, finding it difficult to breathe.

Not so, as I found out. Agoraphobia also refers to a fear of very crowded places, like malls and theatres and airports, as it should, because “agora” is originally a Greek word meaning “marketplace”. So “agoraphobia” literally means “fear of the marketplace”!! Hmmm……a slightly different image than my Julie Andrews version, but one which makes sense because shopping does bring me out in a cold sweat. 

It might also amuse you to know that the marketplace in ancient Greece was also the public square and place for political assembly. So we can also say that agoraphobia means "fear of the political assembly". You might agree there have been some pretty scary political assemblies recently.

So, if the current political season is making it hard for you to breathe, you can always blame your agoraphobia…… 

Philomena

[email protected]