tararehrig.com

i love it when packages come in my mail.  usually all that shows up in my mail box are bills.  or junk.  or bills that i wish were junk.  rarely do i get anything of interest.

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unless i’ve got a package awaiting me on my porch.  then i’m happy.

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this week, i’ve received two such joy givers.  first, my brand new running shoes.  this will be good.  now i can stop belly-aching about my poor, pitiful feet.  maybe.

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and then today, my new book.

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let me introduce you to a new project of mine.  a “you scratch my back, i’ll scratch yours” kind of deal.

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i recently ran across a site called: book sneeze.  i think i saw it posted on a friend’s facebook wall.  and being the avid reader that  i am, i was instantly intrigued.  my interest was piqued.  curiosity got the better of me.

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and i did the research.

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here’s the deal:  i sign up for book sneeze (where great books are contagious, you see).  they give me a book for free.  did you hear that?  FREE.  i read the book.  i write a review on the book.  post the review on my blog.  link the review to their site.  and viola!  the book is mine to keep.  for free.  there’s that word again.  a word i love so much.

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and that’s it.

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it’s like a match made in book-reading heaven.  i love to read.  i love to write.  i love free things.  i love, love, love.  it’s win-win-win.

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today’s mail brought my first book.

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illegals:  the unacceptable cost of america’s failure to control it’s borders.

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now, up until this point, perhaps you were thinking to yourself, “hmm… i could possible get on board this whole book sneeze deal.  i love to read.  i love to write.  this could be win-win for me as well.”

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and then you saw the title of the book i chose.  you clicked out of my blog.  logged off the internet.  shut down the power.  and closed your computer.

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well, hold it right there, missy!  the thing is:  i CHOSE this book.  yes, there were novels.  yes, there were christian literature.  yes, there were children’s books.  yes, there were bible studies.  yes, there were… countless other options besides the politically charged rapsody of the state of our countries borders.

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but like a mama that recognizes the cry of her own hungry baby, i knew this was the book for me.

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and lucky for you, i’m going to post my review of it right here.  on this very site.

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and that way, you don’t have to read the book yourself.

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bless you.

the times.  they are a’changin’.  at least that’s what all the old folks say.  and since, according to a survey i just recently became acquainted with, i learned our life expectancy has now dropped to a dramatic 72 years of age.  apparently, i am approaching middle age.  or i’m right in the middle of the middle of middle age.  no wonder i’m feeling the urge to go buy a sport’s car.

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with my rapidly decreasing years, i figure i ought to start using some of the older folk lingo.  and that’s why i say:  the times.  they are a’changin’.

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and i blame it all on facebook.  the changing times, that is.  not the old people talk.  though if i thought hard enough, i may be able to make a connection there as well.

(has nothing to do with anything whatsoever, but look!  i couldn’t remember how to take a screenshot, so i googled it.  and then i took a screenshot of the google.  it’s the little things that amuse me.  smile and nod.  smile and nod.)

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with that being said, i will now share exactly one, facebook induced vignette.  note:  i thought about sharing up to three, but i couldn’t think of any more than one.  being an artist, i am violently against symmetry.  so i never would have shared two.  three would have been perfect.  but one will do.  you’re welcome for the explanation.

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illustration #1:

setting – tenth grade universal history class

characters – tenth graders.  duh.

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in talking about the creation of man, i was illustrating man’s need for relationship.  that we were not created to be alone or live isolated lives.  i asked, “how did God respond when he saw that man was alone?”

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of course, the answer i was looking for was:  ”he knew it was not good.”

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however, one smart kid burst out, “he invented facebook.”

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and there we have it.  i’m tickled pink that this is what it’s come to.  the times.  and kids these days.

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but not nearly as “tickled pink” as the fact that i was able to work in yet another generational term.  man, i’m good.  even if i am middle aged.  already.

for the last couple weeks, a certain house in my neighborhood has continually caught my eye.  every time i’m at the stop sign at the end of my street, i look across and there it is.

when i glance it’s way, my mind’s eye tells me the poor homeowners have surrounded their property with wooden ducks.

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looks like that, doesn’t it?

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cute.  little.  black and white.  duck brigade.  all the way around their yard.

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i can’t figure out why someone would put wooden ducks anywhere in their front yard.  let along all the way around the edges.  bless their heart.

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so i made up this story in my head.  as way of explanation.

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one day, after just watching the evening news, an elderly housewife turned to her husband.  her voice full of anxiety, she confessed, “i just don’t feel safe in our neighborhood anymore, ed.  what can we do to protect us?”

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ed scratched his balding, shiny head, turned a page of the newspaper, and distractedly answered, “well edith, we could buy us some guns.  i’ll teach you how to shoot a rifle.”

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“oh edward!”  edith exclaimed, “i can’t shoot a rifle.  i would be so frightened!  and what if i missed?  and what of the grandchildren?”  she sighed.  ”there must be another solution.”

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ed slowly took a sip of his cooling coffee and thought for a moment.  ”what about a dog?  they make good protectors.  i could take care of him.  and the grandkids would love it.”

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edith looked surprised.  and slightly annoyed.  ”edward benedict smith!  how long have we been married?  thirty years!  thirty years!  and after all that time, you STILL do not know that i am deathly afraid of dogs?  i am ashamed of you for even bringing them up.  i don’t think you know me at all.”

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perplexed, ed quickly looked around the room for a solution to the hole he had dug himself into.  noticing the duck motif on the kitchen walls, he blurted out, “i know!  what about ducks?  it’s a well known fact that ducks are fiercely loyal.  courageously protective.  and if i’ve learned anything about you in the thirty years that we’ve been married, it’s that ducks make you happy.  what if we set them guard over our house?”

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“oh ed!  you do love me!”  edith exclaimed, running to him and placing a kiss right on his shiny bald forehead.  ”guard ducks are the perfect solution to my anxiety!  i couldn’t feel safer!”

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and with that, ed immediately went outside and placed wooden ducks around the edge of her front yard.

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ed and edith lived happily ever after.

until the day that edith peered out her front window.  and upon closer inspection.  realized the black and white things surrounding her yard where not little, cute, wooden ducks.  but instead, halloween ghosts.  complete with skull and cross bones.

i had to enter my neighborhood from a different street after church this morning.  my normal entrance was blocked with cop cars.  it’s the ghetto, after all.

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as i was speeding through the water puddles, causing rip tides and waves up to my windows, i noticed a huge sign in the front yard of house.  i’d never seen it before.  the house.  or the sign.

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i quickly read it as i drove by.  but i couldn’t figure it out.  i must have missed something.  i turned around in the elementary school parking lot to swing back by.

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here’s what i found:

i look out my front door.  mornin’ sunshine.

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but this isn’t what i remembered seeing the first time through.  so i drove past the house and turned around again.  this time for a second view of the other side:

i look out my back door.  well hellll – o storm water.

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what?

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i don’t understand.

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i looked around the house the best i could for other clues to the meaning of this sign.  i expected the back end of their house to be under water.  at the least.  nope.  nothing.

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i can’t figure out what is going on with this.  is it some kind of message the home owners felt the world needed to know?  did they think we should all understand it’s meaning?  and it should have some sort of impact on our lives?

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it must have been important to them.  they went to all the trouble of making a huge sign.

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i just wish i knew why.

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this is going to bother me all day….

it’s never bad to dream big.  go big or go home, they say.  who they are, i don’t know.  why home, i don’t know either.  regardless.  they say it, so do it.

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dream big, that is.

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apparently, my tenth graders have taken this to heart.

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recently, i asked my students to write a paper on what the history books would say about their life 200 years after their death.  they had to imagine they’d lived a full life, 80 years or so, and write about it.  a eulogy of sorts.

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after reading 65 of these babies, i started to notice a theme.  it seems when you’re sixteen, you hope the following will be true:

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1.  if you are an athlete in high school.  no matter how moderate or extreme your talent may be.  you are destined to play your sport in college.  and probably, without a doubt, the pros.

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2.  you will meet the love of your life exactly 2.5 years after you graduate from college.  most likely while doing something exotic, like administering tb pills in the remote hills of africa.  while on spring break.  from your ivy league college.

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3.  children will be in your future.  however, not until you have firmly established yourself as a partner in a law firm or as head neurologist at boston medical.  and definitely not before you turn 28.  of these children, you will have at least one set of twins.  most likely with blond curls and blue eyes.  regardless of the fact that you are a red head and your husband, also a top of his field professional, has black locks.

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4.  by the time you are 32, you will have published a book, won the nobel peace prize, or found the cure for cancer.  it will now be about the time you will want to start looking for your next career.  you’re a little bored with this first one.  having reached your highest potential a mere 15 years out of high school.

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5.  at the age of 35, you’re well into your second career.  you’ve made enough money to sustain yourself and your large family.  and have now decided to adopt more children, open an orphanage or build a school.  something philanthropist like.

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6.  now that you’ve saved the world, raised a house full of children and made a boat load of money, at the age of 50 it’s time to retire and head out to the mission field.  or just sit around.  either way.  nothing could possibly happen between the age of 50 and 80.   nothing worth writing about in a school paper, that is.

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and according to my tenth graders, i’m about fifteen years behind on my life schedule.

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i can’t decide how i feel about this.  except to say:  i hope all their dreams come true.

do you see what i see?

oh man.  there it is again.

and again.  around every corner.

as my brother would say, “pardon me, sir gangster?  but your pants are descending.”

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perhaps i should submit this to the peoples of walmart.

in my mind, i have a picture that encapsulates my childhood.  i’m eight, nine, ten years old.  sporting cut off jean shorts and a tank top.  my strawberry blond hair has been pulled into a long single braid that drapes it’s self down my back nearly to my waist.  i’m laying on my my stomach, propped up on my elbows with my knees bent and my bare feet crossed, swinging in the air.

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my face can’t be seen as it’s buried in a book.

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joy.  pure joy.

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i’d spend hours in this position.  on my bed.  on the living room floor.  on my bedroom floor.  on my parent’s room floor.  anywhere i could find the space and the quiet.

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hours and hours and hours.

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until finally my eyes went bad and i started having to wear glasses.

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i didn’t let that stop me.  because reading was my pleasure.

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and still today.  give me a good book, a comfortable chair and some strong coffee and i am set.  a simple girl, i am.  in fact, if i’m not careful, i’ll wile away a whole day wrapped in the life of a fictional character.

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obviously i don’t feel too bad about this use of my time or i’d have quit a while ago.  readers are leaders, they say.

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back to my picture of childhood, i imagine the cover of that book i’m so deeply buried in could very well have been this:

i’m pretty sure i read every book beverly cleary ever wrote.  before i graduated to the babysitter’s club.  and then sweet valley high.  and then janette oak.  and then sophia kinsella.

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ramona quimby, age 8.

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i loved her as a child.

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and after seeing the new movie, ramona and beezus, i love her as an adult.

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few movies compare to the book version of a story.  but this one got it right.  combining all of the famous moments from all her books, the movie portrayed the essence of ramona.  a pipsqueak little girl, fearlessly larger than life.

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to be cliche:  it made me laugh.  it made me cry.  it made me want to be an 8 year old again.

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and it made me proud of my family.  weird, i know.  that a movie would evoke that emotion in me.  but it did.  because, counter to the prevailing culture of america, ramona and beezus showed a picture of a family that was genuine.  the dad was respected.  the mom was loved.  the daughters were obedient.

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too often, movies and tv shows portray the dad, in particular, as just a big doofus.  someone to deal with.  to shoo off into the other room.  make fun of.  and get out of the way.  while the mom takes on the problems of the world.  bossing everyone around as she runs the house.

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what a refreshment to spend an afternoon in the company of ramona, beezus, and there parents.  a family i grew up with.  a family i would be proud of.

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a family, much like my own, that would let me lay around on the living room floor soaking up the stories created by beverly cleary and others like her.

this post will be published under the category “culture”.   see if you can tell me why.

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last night i watched a new show on the cw.  oh, the cw.  always putting out quality television.  gotta love it.

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this was a makeover show.  with a twist.

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i have to admit.  i’m a sucker for a good makeover.  i don’t know what it is.  the little girl, fairy-tale believing soul inside of me.  love them.

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on the show they took a “plain jane”, who was desperately in love with someone, and made them over so they could have the confidence to ask this guy out.

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right off the bat, the message of the show was that a girl has to be a knock-0ut to get the attention of a guy.  wrong.  so wrong.  while i did not agree with that point, i will concede that they were teaching the girl confidence.  and let’s face it, confidence is a big turn on.

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last night’s featured girl was a skinny, red headed music exec.  a  couple years out of college.  used to being one of the guys.  wearing flannel shirts.  hoodies.  and baseball caps.

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she was head over heels in love with one of her guy friends.  a guys she had known for the last six years and with who she was hoping to move out of the buddy realm.

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to instill her self worth, the host (a british gal.  duh.  what else?  apparently no american tv is good anymore without an accent from the mother land) put her through a series of exercises.  like touching a snail.  because who isn’t deathly afraid of snails and just needs to touch one to become the woman she was meant to be?  seriously.

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after taming her hair, applying make-up, and donning the perfect outfit, she was ready for the blind date with the man of her dreams.  aka:  her bud.

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as she descended the staircase, i was biting my nails.  seriously, my room mate and i were so nervous for her.  ”oh this isn’t going to be good…”  we kept murmuring to the television set.

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surprisingly, her guy was happy.  not just happy.  but seemingly ecstatic to see that his blind date was her, his friend.

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“hmm…”  we thought.  ”this could turn out ok.”

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the moment of truth came as she confessed she wanted to be more than friends.

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his reply: “i guess you didn’t know, but i kind of had a huge crush on you all four years of college.”

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the girl:  ”really?  why didn’t you say anything?”

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the guy:  ”why didn’t YOU say anything to me?”

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wait.  what?  i’m sorry, you’re gonna blame her, the girl, for not telling you, the guy, that she was interested in you.  man up, please.

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i threw my pillow at the tv set in disgust.  and proceeded to lecture the boy on his role as man.  unfortunately, i don’t think he was listening.

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moral of the story:  mamas, don’t let your baby boys grow up to be cowards.

joe.  he’d made it a habit of coming into my office three or four times a week.  he was a previous student of mine.  one i’d had in a reading class the semester before.  he was 19.  from china.

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i worked 10-12 hour days that year.  most of that spent in the four walls of the teacher’s office.  with two other foreign teachers and four or five chinese teachers.  my days were long.  laborious.  sometimes tedious.  other times dull.

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i taught reading and writing in our university.  i lead a team of six american english teachers.  i observed classes.  i checked lesson plans.  i met with my team individually and corporately.  i was in graduate school.

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my plate was full.

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it was a typical day that i remember.  i was at my desk.  working on my computer.  drinking my nescafe.  answering emails, listening to music, grading papers.  who knows what.

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joe came in.

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he placed his books on my desk, carefully avoiding my bowl of goldfish.  pulled out the chair i kept alongside mine.  plopped himself down.

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i closed my computer.

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and we began to talk.

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i don’t remember what we talked about.  it could have been school.  it could have been family.  it could have been the future.  it could have been america.  it could have been my “problem” of not having a boyfriend.  it could have been about that weeks basketball game.  all those topics had been addressed at one time or another.

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i do remember this.  in the midst of our conversation.  he said: “i love coming to talk with you.  you never seem busy.”

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joe thought i was never busy.  joe was wrong.  i had deadlines.  commitments.  responsibilities.  obligations.

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but somehow.  through the grace of God.  i had conveyed to him rest.  time.  availability.  openness.

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joe didn’t know all the was pressing on my time.  joe didn’t know what was heavy on my heart.  joe didn’t know the deadlines i was up against.  the work i needed to accomplish.  the things i needed to check of my list.  the drive to be productive.

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he didn’t see that.  he didn’t feel that.  instead, he felt valued.  he felt he was the only thing that mattered to me.  and i had all the time in the world to give to him.  because he was worth it.

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“you never seem busy.”  has become one of the greatest compliments i’ve ever been given.

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i think of it often.  especially in a culture and time that places so much worth on doing.  i have to remind myself and ask, am i placing the value on the product?  or the value on the person?

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and try again to seem to others as if i’m never busy.

i recently made a trek to the christian book store in my area.  now, i’ll warn you, i don’t typically like christian book stores.  i’m not sure why.  i think it has something to do with people who do not practice discernment and think it’s ok to read anything in a christian bookstore and call it gospel.  it’s a pious soapbox i find myself perched upon.

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however, i had to get a particular book for a book club meeting coming up.  i’d put off the purchase until this was my last resort.  as i crouched on the ground of the “single living” section, searching for passion and purity by elizabeth elliot, several other books caught my eye.  i ended up leaving the store with, not only elliot’s prized writings but several (i’m too embarrassed to disclose the exact number here) other books on singleness.

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singleness.  sigh.  singleness.

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there are so many directions i could go with this post and this topic.  i’ve a lifetime of experience with it.  i breath it everyday.

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but today, where i want to land is here:

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i told you i was embarrassed to reveal the number of books i purchased on that subject.  so you can imagine how i felt standing in the check out line and handing my pile to the cashier.  she was gracious and did not comment.  though i’m sure she noticed.

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the thing is, i even felt funny standing in that aisle.  as if, by browsing that topic i had suddenly lit a big LOSER / DESPERATE sign with an arrow pointing down above my head.

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and this is what i want explore.  why is there a stigma in saying i want to be married?  why am i embarrassed to say it?  or why do i so often brush over it and play the part of being perfectly content otherwise?  why do i feel i have to cover the situation in humor lest anyone take the real seriousness of it too serious and pity me?

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if i had been standing in the home and garden section, my only thoughts would have been that people would think i was pretty cool to want to fix up my house.  responsible.  creative.  and the like.

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if i had bought a stack of books on finding the perfect career or school, i wouldn’t have worried that anyone thought i was discontent with my life.  instead, i would have felt confident that it appeared i was taking steps to become who i wanted to be.

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so, why does the longing for a husband and a family bring about feelings of embarrassment?  or does it?  am i pinning my own perceptions on others?

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these are the questions i struggle with daily.

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in get married: what women can do to help it happen (even as i write it, the title makes me squirm.  makes me feel uneasy for sharing with the world that i’ve read that book.  and will recommend it to other singles), the author, candice watters, thoughts mirrors some of my own.  after being told that to reestablish our country to it’s constitutional foundation and to follow GOD’S DESIGN, people are to get married and have a family.  her response was:

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“i had picked up the idea from the Christian culture around me that celibate service was superior… and that to be truly spiritual, you had to at least be open to the possibility.  now this professor was telling me that God’s plan for believers, most of them anyway, and for the future good of society, was marriage and babies.  family.  it was a shock to my system.”

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not a shock in the sense that it went against what i wanted.  but a shock of confirmation that what i want is good.  honorable.  pleasing.  holy.  intended.

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and what God wants for me too.

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there is no stigma in that.  no embarrassment should be felt when i say boldly that i want to be a godly wife to a godly husband to raise a family of godly children that will impact generations to come… for the glory of our Savior.

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and i’m not going to let the lies of our culture keep me from proclaiming that truth.