Ladies Retreat, Twin Oaks Ranch
Posted on 2007-03-19
Hi y'all,
I've been away for a few days but I'm home now after attending our church's very first ladies retreat in Buda Texas. This past weekend in spite of the fact my body had to adapt to lots of things it wasn't accustomed to, my spirit came back refreshed. Sharing a cabin with four other ladies (one of whom snored like a logger): trying to relax on a rough plank in a sleeping bag with people coming in and going out at odd hours; and attempting to eke lo-carb meals out of hi-carb fare, all were challenges I survived. I am so glad I was privileged to attend.
"In His Image" was the theme Bev Armstrong, our keynote speaker, chose for our time together, introduced during the first session on Friday evening. Bev broke ice that evening by urging us to imagine, then define, our spiritual shape to the person next to us. Several of us looked at one another with a question mark above our heads, but others caught on fast. When called upon to describe their shapes the quicker studies in the group came up with some interesting shapes to share.
To name a few, there was a square, an isosceles triangle, a circle, an oblong, a star, and others - even one squiggly. A few ladies volunteered to explain their reasons for choosing the shapes they did. The oblong said she was a less than perfect circle; star said her points stood for all the different roles she had to play as a mother - triangles were similar. Squares and rectangles said they were more black and white types, with definite edges and boundaries. The squiggly said she felt like she had to be flexible because so many demands were made on her that she had to slip from one identity to another at the drop of a noodle.
After hearing some of the women explain themselves I got a better idea of what was meant. I decided I was a spaghetti because my thoughts are all interconnected. But before I could interject my shape the squiggly lady spoke up and since I felt they were so similar I kept mine to myself. (It seems like that happens to me often in group settings. I think of this brilliant insight and someone else pops out with it first. Always leaves me feeling kind of deflated, you know.)
On Saturday we learned why we had been called upon to think about character shapes. Our speaker drew a circle on the board with a cross inside forming pie-shape divisions or sections within, each one representing ways that God re-shapes us. You see in the beginning of creation we were made in His image, the perfect circle representing a perfect shape. But after the first humans sinned in Eden that shape became distorted. Hence the cross inside the circle to show how God provides a new beginning at Calvary for those who believe.
The upper left section represents the Cross or death of Christ on the cross; the upper right is The Word, or scripture; the lower left is Prayer; and the lower right is our involvement with one another. Each has an impact that is vital to restoring God's image to us. On Saturday, three sessions dealt with the cross, the Word, and Prayer, respectively. The last service, Sunday morning, centered in our relationships with other Christian women.
Since it would require too much space and time I won't go into detail about each of the ways God has planned for us to regain His image. I will however give you a very terse synopsis. On the cross Jesus said, "It is finished!" That means our sin debt was paid in full at the cross - our separation from God repaired. The victory of our salvation was actually won 2,000 years ago. There is obviously however much to be done in respect to our regaining the glory of God's original shaping. While salvation is assured, the scriptures speak of the judgement seat of Christ - according to the material of which they are made our works are either burnt up or rewarded there: gold, silver, wood, hay, stubble. Kingdom works are precious metal that does not burn. Selfish works are the wood, hay, or stubble. This leads us to the next reshaping tool.
"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. How do we make the will of God on earth reality? The scriptures reveal God's mind, His will. The Word of God is the tool of God to change the people of God. Scripture is God-breathed. They self-validates their Godly origin and usefulness for equipping the saints. The Word pierces our attitudes; it has convicting power.
Prayer. Pray the scriptures. This is a wonderful way to communicate with God in His own language. Begin with praise. Psalms is an excellent place to pray praises. Pray the scriptures for your family, your friends, your church, your nation and its leaders. Place your own name in the scripture of request, then pray it back to God.
To complete the circle we must love others as self. Do not use group prayer, or prayer with a prayer partner as a way to manipulate others. Pray to God, not to your group or prayer partner. Don't try to "fix" someone. Instead, come alongside, point to Christ. Bev gave wonderful example of Lydia, a New Testament business woman of means, being in harmony with a former demon-possessed slave girl. Lydia opened her home to Paul and Dr. Luke, her beautiful couch perhaps to be stained by their bloody backs. Lydia had a choice to make. She chose correctly. Bev spoke of the three-strand cord in Proverbs, suggesting we ask God to bring us someone of His choosing for us to interact with, for just one year. Both parties in a discipleship relationship have something to gain. It is never one sided. Women under the influence of the Holy Spirit can make a tremendous difference in their church and community.
On Saturday evening we had quiet time with God, individually under the stars. Afterward we came together around a bonfire and shared our hearts. I shared how He spoke to me about standing on His airhose. I was stopping Holy Spirit flow, suffocating myself with my own selfish pursuits. Into the fire went our mistakes, repentances, regrets, baggage. We were cleansed and bonded together as one.
To end on a lighter note I will share one of the more humorous incidents that happened at retreat. Each lady at registration was given a gift bag filled with frilly girl-type items. One of the items in each bag was a container of liquid hand soap. I know because I read the label. In our cabin I was the first to pull mine from the bag. I set it on the lavatory for all of us to use. But it was not until the second day that I observed one of my cabin buddies removing her container and squishing some of the pink liquid into the palm of her hand. She was at the time sitting on her bunk. I remarked how nice she had gotten hand lotion. "I only got soap!" I complained. She started to read her label. It said HAND SOAP. We had a good laugh.
Later at lunch around a table of about 8 ladies we were recalling the incident to a friend. She said, "Oh! That was soap?!!" I rubbed it all over my body after my shower this morning." Of course since we were already giggling you can imagine the peals of laughter this new revelation provoked. We teased her with all kinds of scenarios. If we saw bubbles coming out from under her cabin door we would know she was in the shower. We told her she better only wash one leg or an arm at a time. "Doesn't it itch?" we wanted to know. "Not really," she said. "I just feel a little slick." When I told my husband later at home he said she best not get caught in a rainstorm. Our sweet-natured friend took it all in good humor, joining with us in poking fun at herself.
Until next time, be sure to read all your labels.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Perils Of The Undermice
Sharing my latest!
“What do you think about this?” Over a cup of hot coffee, I was jawing with my fellow writer friend Ross about animated movie script ideas.
“You got a mice couple, call ‘em Ikedrom and Molly, never had any kids. Live in the walls of an old abandoned apartment building. Old man, he’s happy, the way things are. But the wife, she’s freaking out because she wants a kid so bad. Nags Ikedrom all the time.
One day they find a blankie on their doorstep. Turns out, there’s a newborn kitten wrapped inside. Molly wants to keep it, Ikedrom thinks Molly’s nuts. They argue. Molly digs in, takes matters into her own paws. She drags the blankie inside - names the kitty Rehtse, feeds it from an old rubber glove of Ike’s.
Before long Molly realizes Rehtse is getting too big for her blankie and their apartment. She needs Ike to help her figure out a way to move Rehtse someplace roomier- but close enough so she can still look after her. So she makes up with Ike. Idea is maybe he can find a closet or an attic or something in the building and create an opening from there into their apartment.
Ikedrom agrees to venture into the wide world of their building to see what he can see. Next morning at daybreak, he sets out.
“Wait a minute,” Ross interrupts - rather rudely, I’m thinking. “Plot sounds kind of’ fantastical to me. Nobody’s gonna’ buy it. You know, suspension of belief and all that!”
“Patience, friend,” I counter him, “there’s a thread. Besides, you the myth-king of all time, are telling me my story’s too fantastical?”
“Well, all right,” my friend relents, but with a martyred look on his face. But try to get on with it, will you? Just give me a rough outline.”
Okay, I’ll try but I’m not sure I can do justice just hitting the high points.” I taste my coffee and frown deeply. Ross has been jabbering so much, it’s gotten cold.
“Anyhow, so Ikedrom crawls out a crack, climbs a vine, and re-enters through an air-duct. Once inside he starts to look around and sure enough finds the perfect hidey-hole for Rehtse. But before he can make it back to tell Molly, he overhears two renegade cat denizens, Namah and Manah, plotting against the big hama-hama cat of the neighborhood, Sure-Usa-Dak-Uben.
So happens big guy is a champion of the under dog mice folk and has just made a decree in their favor. The two traitors don’t like it so they’re gonna’ do him in.”
“Nope, nope, story line’s never gonna’ work!” Its Ross again, rearing back in his arrogance.
“What do you mean it won’t work? I think it’s great!”
“Audience won’t sit still for it. Too weird! But do go on!”
“Thanks buddy, I think I will!” I clear my throat.
“As soon as the coast is clear old Ike rushes back home to tell Molly what he overheard. They write a note to Sure-Usa warning him of danger and the plot against him is foiled. Sure-Usa writes it all down on a sticky-note, but then forgets all about it.
Months go by and Rehtse grows into a little beauty. She loves her adoptive mice parents but senses it’s time to move on. Once in the hood, she becomes queen of the hop. Sure-Usa notices Rehtse, Rehtse notices Sure-Usa. They become inseparable and begin wedding plans. Rehtse doesn’t tell Sure-Usa about her mice relations.
Before you know it a new dastardly plot arises in the enemy camp. Namah and Manah are spreading it that mice cause golden tumors on cats. All mice are declared enemies of the state and are to be exterminated. Without realizing what he’s doing, Sure-Usa signs the bill.”
“Oh my goodness!” Ross is shaking his head, determined not to let me get a word in edgewise.
“Please!” I hold up a hand. “I’m almost done.”
“Ikedrom goes looking for Rehtse - finds her basking at her ease. Tells her about dastardly plot, enlists her aid. Rhetse agrees but demands backup: all mice have to give up cheese for Lent. Mice of the hood agree.
Meanwhile, Sure-Usa can’t sleep one night, finds wadded-up note under him is reason. Reads note that Ikedrom saved his life one time. Gives Ike a new suit of clothes.
Rehtse hatches plan. Invites Sure-Usa, Namah and Manah to a party. Rehtse confesses her humble beginnings to Sure-Usa and rats on Namah and Manah. She begs a mice reprieve for her adoptive kinfolk. When Sure-Usa catches Namah and Manah trying to claw Rehtse, that corks it. He banishes them to Pied Piper land. Rehtse, Sure-Usa, Ikedrom and Molly all take a cruise together. On Namah and Manah’s money.”
“Now see, that didn’t take too long!”
“Well, it might be okay,” this was quite a concession for such as Ross. But I couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. And it did.
“But I have just one question… (here it came) why a weird name like Molly?”
“I don’t know,” I said, after thinking about it a minute or two. I scratched my head, “That’s just her name, I guess!”
“What do you think about this?” Over a cup of hot coffee, I was jawing with my fellow writer friend Ross about animated movie script ideas.
“You got a mice couple, call ‘em Ikedrom and Molly, never had any kids. Live in the walls of an old abandoned apartment building. Old man, he’s happy, the way things are. But the wife, she’s freaking out because she wants a kid so bad. Nags Ikedrom all the time.
One day they find a blankie on their doorstep. Turns out, there’s a newborn kitten wrapped inside. Molly wants to keep it, Ikedrom thinks Molly’s nuts. They argue. Molly digs in, takes matters into her own paws. She drags the blankie inside - names the kitty Rehtse, feeds it from an old rubber glove of Ike’s.
Before long Molly realizes Rehtse is getting too big for her blankie and their apartment. She needs Ike to help her figure out a way to move Rehtse someplace roomier- but close enough so she can still look after her. So she makes up with Ike. Idea is maybe he can find a closet or an attic or something in the building and create an opening from there into their apartment.
Ikedrom agrees to venture into the wide world of their building to see what he can see. Next morning at daybreak, he sets out.
“Wait a minute,” Ross interrupts - rather rudely, I’m thinking. “Plot sounds kind of’ fantastical to me. Nobody’s gonna’ buy it. You know, suspension of belief and all that!”
“Patience, friend,” I counter him, “there’s a thread. Besides, you the myth-king of all time, are telling me my story’s too fantastical?”
“Well, all right,” my friend relents, but with a martyred look on his face. But try to get on with it, will you? Just give me a rough outline.”
Okay, I’ll try but I’m not sure I can do justice just hitting the high points.” I taste my coffee and frown deeply. Ross has been jabbering so much, it’s gotten cold.
“Anyhow, so Ikedrom crawls out a crack, climbs a vine, and re-enters through an air-duct. Once inside he starts to look around and sure enough finds the perfect hidey-hole for Rehtse. But before he can make it back to tell Molly, he overhears two renegade cat denizens, Namah and Manah, plotting against the big hama-hama cat of the neighborhood, Sure-Usa-Dak-Uben.
So happens big guy is a champion of the under dog mice folk and has just made a decree in their favor. The two traitors don’t like it so they’re gonna’ do him in.”
“Nope, nope, story line’s never gonna’ work!” Its Ross again, rearing back in his arrogance.
“What do you mean it won’t work? I think it’s great!”
“Audience won’t sit still for it. Too weird! But do go on!”
“Thanks buddy, I think I will!” I clear my throat.
“As soon as the coast is clear old Ike rushes back home to tell Molly what he overheard. They write a note to Sure-Usa warning him of danger and the plot against him is foiled. Sure-Usa writes it all down on a sticky-note, but then forgets all about it.
Months go by and Rehtse grows into a little beauty. She loves her adoptive mice parents but senses it’s time to move on. Once in the hood, she becomes queen of the hop. Sure-Usa notices Rehtse, Rehtse notices Sure-Usa. They become inseparable and begin wedding plans. Rehtse doesn’t tell Sure-Usa about her mice relations.
Before you know it a new dastardly plot arises in the enemy camp. Namah and Manah are spreading it that mice cause golden tumors on cats. All mice are declared enemies of the state and are to be exterminated. Without realizing what he’s doing, Sure-Usa signs the bill.”
“Oh my goodness!” Ross is shaking his head, determined not to let me get a word in edgewise.
“Please!” I hold up a hand. “I’m almost done.”
“Ikedrom goes looking for Rehtse - finds her basking at her ease. Tells her about dastardly plot, enlists her aid. Rhetse agrees but demands backup: all mice have to give up cheese for Lent. Mice of the hood agree.
Meanwhile, Sure-Usa can’t sleep one night, finds wadded-up note under him is reason. Reads note that Ikedrom saved his life one time. Gives Ike a new suit of clothes.
Rehtse hatches plan. Invites Sure-Usa, Namah and Manah to a party. Rehtse confesses her humble beginnings to Sure-Usa and rats on Namah and Manah. She begs a mice reprieve for her adoptive kinfolk. When Sure-Usa catches Namah and Manah trying to claw Rehtse, that corks it. He banishes them to Pied Piper land. Rehtse, Sure-Usa, Ikedrom and Molly all take a cruise together. On Namah and Manah’s money.”
“Now see, that didn’t take too long!”
“Well, it might be okay,” this was quite a concession for such as Ross. But I couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. And it did.
“But I have just one question… (here it came) why a weird name like Molly?”
“I don’t know,” I said, after thinking about it a minute or two. I scratched my head, “That’s just her name, I guess!”
Friday, March 02, 2007
Back - yes again
An updated version of an old post. I had been lax in posting anything at all for some time when the original version of this story appeared. After another lapse of time (much longer) I am reworking some of my older challenge articles from Faithwriters. The challenge subject- Sewing. 150-750 words.
A New Beginning for Sylvie
Sylvie sat near an open window staring out at the front lawn, unmindful she had massaged her knuckles until they were nearly raw. In her lap lay an officious-looking letter, unopened. She hadn’t been able to attend her church for some time now and her giving was next to nothing. For that reason she feared the letter had to do with removing her from the church roster.
As she watched, a few dispirited, brown leaves circled in their own personal, small tornado before an instant gust of wind sent them scooting across the lawn. “Just like me,” she thought, dry and useless as an old, dead leaf, spent and good for nothing but the burn pile.”
The elderly lady’s birdlike features pinched into a knot as she sought to hold onto the flood of weeping mounting in her throat. “Oh Lord, just take me home,” she sobbed, bending nearly double into her lap. “What good am I to a blessed soul on earth? What good am I to You Lord, for that matter?”
“Ma’am?” It was Torie, Sylvie’s care-giver. “I got the soup all heated up now and don’t it smell good! And if you want we can have some of those nice oyster crackers you like so much! C’mon now sweetie, you hadn’ had a bite all day,” Torie’s narrow, plain face widened in a smile of encouragement.
Ashamed to be caught in such an emotional display, Sylvie righted herself, pulled a tissue from its container and began to dab at her face. Then with some difficulty, she sought to release the hand-brake on her wheel-chair. “At least I can still do that,” she chirruped in an attempt to sound more upbeat. But as sharp pain stabbed through her arthritic fingers she winced and had to stifle a moan.
---
For over half a century, Sylvie had been the unofficial seamstress for her church. Over the years she had stitched her way through mountains of sewing projects: choir robes that needed hemming or altering; velvet covers for the kneeling pads at the altar; curtains for Sunday School rooms and tapestries for the vestry; more kid’s pageant costumes than anyone could keep track of.
Her church pals used to stand in amazement, “Sylvie, you hop around like a flea – don’t know how you get a thing done. But if you don’t accomplish more than all the rest of us put together my name isn't (and here you may place whoever's name it was that was poking harmless fun at Sylvie)! Must be your gift!”
Sylvie was certain they were right; and what joy to one whose only family had been her church sisters and brothers. Sylvie was an orphan and had never married.
But now her gift and the days of her usefulness were all behind her. What with that new, young man they had hired as a pastor, and most of her friends having passed over, Sylvie felt very few even knew who she was: much less the role she had played in the life of her church.
--
“Would you like me to open your letter for you?” Torie broke in on Sylvie’s gray thoughts.
In days to come Sylvie would muse over how her heart leapt when Torie asked that simple question.. How it pounded with hope as it hadn’t done in months, maybe years. And why she answered her as she did when only a few moments before she had been droopy as a wet sheet. “Yes, I think I would. And read it aloud to me, if you don’t mind.”
The letter began with a greeting from Pastor Tom, his family, and the members at large. After that came something that left Sylvie dumbfounded: Pastor was thanking her for her many years' service to the church and inviting her to a special banquet to be held in her honor next Sunday. And if that weren't enough, he wrote, “if you feel up to it, would you consider heading up the new prayer chain the church is forming?” The council had been unanimous in naming her as their first choice.
Would she? My limbs may not be what they used to, but there’s not a thing wrong with my pray-er. And after all, since the chain-stitch has always been my favorite, how can I refuse? ”
A New Beginning for Sylvie
Sylvie sat near an open window staring out at the front lawn, unmindful she had massaged her knuckles until they were nearly raw. In her lap lay an officious-looking letter, unopened. She hadn’t been able to attend her church for some time now and her giving was next to nothing. For that reason she feared the letter had to do with removing her from the church roster.
As she watched, a few dispirited, brown leaves circled in their own personal, small tornado before an instant gust of wind sent them scooting across the lawn. “Just like me,” she thought, dry and useless as an old, dead leaf, spent and good for nothing but the burn pile.”
The elderly lady’s birdlike features pinched into a knot as she sought to hold onto the flood of weeping mounting in her throat. “Oh Lord, just take me home,” she sobbed, bending nearly double into her lap. “What good am I to a blessed soul on earth? What good am I to You Lord, for that matter?”
“Ma’am?” It was Torie, Sylvie’s care-giver. “I got the soup all heated up now and don’t it smell good! And if you want we can have some of those nice oyster crackers you like so much! C’mon now sweetie, you hadn’ had a bite all day,” Torie’s narrow, plain face widened in a smile of encouragement.
Ashamed to be caught in such an emotional display, Sylvie righted herself, pulled a tissue from its container and began to dab at her face. Then with some difficulty, she sought to release the hand-brake on her wheel-chair. “At least I can still do that,” she chirruped in an attempt to sound more upbeat. But as sharp pain stabbed through her arthritic fingers she winced and had to stifle a moan.
---
For over half a century, Sylvie had been the unofficial seamstress for her church. Over the years she had stitched her way through mountains of sewing projects: choir robes that needed hemming or altering; velvet covers for the kneeling pads at the altar; curtains for Sunday School rooms and tapestries for the vestry; more kid’s pageant costumes than anyone could keep track of.
Her church pals used to stand in amazement, “Sylvie, you hop around like a flea – don’t know how you get a thing done. But if you don’t accomplish more than all the rest of us put together my name isn't (and here you may place whoever's name it was that was poking harmless fun at Sylvie)! Must be your gift!”
Sylvie was certain they were right; and what joy to one whose only family had been her church sisters and brothers. Sylvie was an orphan and had never married.
But now her gift and the days of her usefulness were all behind her. What with that new, young man they had hired as a pastor, and most of her friends having passed over, Sylvie felt very few even knew who she was: much less the role she had played in the life of her church.
--
“Would you like me to open your letter for you?” Torie broke in on Sylvie’s gray thoughts.
In days to come Sylvie would muse over how her heart leapt when Torie asked that simple question.. How it pounded with hope as it hadn’t done in months, maybe years. And why she answered her as she did when only a few moments before she had been droopy as a wet sheet. “Yes, I think I would. And read it aloud to me, if you don’t mind.”
The letter began with a greeting from Pastor Tom, his family, and the members at large. After that came something that left Sylvie dumbfounded: Pastor was thanking her for her many years' service to the church and inviting her to a special banquet to be held in her honor next Sunday. And if that weren't enough, he wrote, “if you feel up to it, would you consider heading up the new prayer chain the church is forming?” The council had been unanimous in naming her as their first choice.
Would she? My limbs may not be what they used to, but there’s not a thing wrong with my pray-er. And after all, since the chain-stitch has always been my favorite, how can I refuse? ”
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