Griddlecakes Radio

Just in case you aren't a Griddlecakes Radio subscriber (and why aren't you, I might ask? Hmmmmmm...), I'm in a bit over there. Griddlesode 20: Business Babble. Check it out, and tell Ron I sent you.

Interesting study results

I don't know, but the armchair sociologist/psychologist in me is fascinated by the results of this study.

Family Love

Last night, my son had his big Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts. It was nowhere near as long as last year (which is good, because last year went on forever and ever and ever and ev...), and was actually a lot of fun. My big boy got his Bear badge, and an arrow point, and was so proud to be up at the front of the fellowship hall, getting recognition from everyone for his hard work. The little lady sat there slurping spaghetti and enjoying seeing her big brother get his badges. And when it came time for the "Crossing Over" ceremony, where the 2nd year Webelos cross the bridge and officially become Boy Scouts, both of my little boys sat there, starry-eyed, watching it all with envy.

"There going to be Boy Scouts now, Mama?" asked the little one, eyes wide, wanting to make sure he understood it all.

"Just two more years, and that will be me!" said the big guy, bursting with anticipation.

I'm a proud mama. Pictures will be at flickr later today, for sure.

My family is my everything. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you-- my husband and my children light up my life. Being there last night, with all the other moms and dads, sitting through lists of kids getting awards that aren't your kid, sticking around, applauding, trying not to act bored-- it all reminded me that these little things mean so much to my kids. Family Uno battles, ticklefights, playing in the back yard together, fixing pigtails gently so that hair doesn't get snagged, bringing one of the kids to work with me (Whose turn is it now, mommy?), bedtime backrubs, kissing boo-boos, and doing everything I can to help one of my little ones when they are sick or hurt-- these are the things that they will forever bring to memory when thinking of me. No parent is perfect all the time. I can only hope that the good will far outweigh the bad, and that they'll always see me as their biggest fan and their strongest defender.

Yeehaw!

Last week, I emailed a picture of my band I direct to the local paper. Not only did they publish the photo, they even included a nice little article about how cool it is that a private school that small can have a band program! Awesome! Unfortunately for my long-distance pals, the article is not available at their web site (they only put up the cover story, obits, and editorial online), and I'm not about to retype the whole thing. But, suffice to say that it is pretty cool! :-)

We got a new camera yesterday to replace the broken one. Excellent! Flickr users beware!

poem

I feel like a nice, warm cup of Maya Angelou right now...

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I have a few good interviews scheduled this week with people who have repeatedly risen out of the darkness. This will be good. :-)

Speech Enhancers, and Crazy People

I recently sent in some audio for my part in an upcoming skit at one of the podcasts I enjoy. The podcaster emailed me back, letting me know that there was something resembling a "noise gate artifact" left in the audio, and could I please check and remove any effects. I hadn't added a noise gate, and didn't even know what a "noise gate artifact" was, Google being no help at all.

So, I was retelling the story to some of my band students today, and they were all laughing at me. My trombone player, who is a skilled musician on other instruments and whose father is a musician as well, explained to the class. "A noise gate is something you do to your audio to reduce clicks, pops, and other background noise from your recording. It uses some of its' own sound to cover up the unwanted sounds, so a noise gate artifact is when the sound it uses to cover up unwanted sound creates its' own unwanted effect."

"Oh, cool," I said, trying to act like I'm still the musical expert. "Well, it turns out that there wasn't a noise gate at all. But when you do a Basic Voice track in GarageBand, it apparently adds a Speech Enhancer effect by default."

"What's a Speech Enhancer effect?" asked one of the other band kids.

Mr. Trombone Know-it-all piped up again. Without as much as a teeny smile, he explained, "That's the effect that fixes it so when you say (faking his best redneck voice) 'Gee, golly, I ain't feelin' good at all today' covers it up and makes it say (sounding like a British robot) 'I. Am. Not. Feeling. Good. Today.'"

And you guys wonder why I like teaching band... Shame on you!

Checking out the news today, I'm just heartbroken over how a group of people can take their rage over a legitimate issue and turn it into something so out of control that they lose all credibility. When things don't go the way you think they should, that's a perfect opportunity to speak out in a confident but measured way to work toward greater justice and understanding. When you take that opportunity and completely violate it, you should not be surprised when people begin to make even greater generalizations and misunderstandings about the group you are claiming to speak for, whether you're truly speaking for the group or not. Freakish anger, vengeance, hatred, and random violence have never solved the problems of any individual or group, and will always just create more problems in the end.

Matt's Today in History

One of the podcasts I enjoy a great deal, and one of the first I ever subscribed to, is Matt's Today in History. Matt, who also blogs at www.opaquelucidity.com, puts out a podcast in which he discusses interesting historical events that happened on this date in a past year. Well, he recently put out a call for guest podcasts, and being the excited podcast newbie that I am, I couldn't resist sending him my own audio. It's up now at his site, and you can find out about how on February 5, 1778, South Carolina became the first state to ratify the Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union. Enjoy!

I've been thinking about some other stuff, too, but I'll have to save that for another post, possibly tomorrow. Stay tuned.

You don't know the power of the blog.

While reading one of my favorite blogs today, I thought about how badly it must suck to be a family member or real-life friend of someone who blogs about every stupid thing you do. God bless my husband, Maher, my kids, and anyone else who puts up with the things I tell about them. :-)

Be advised, however, that my heartfelt empathy will not stop me from blogging about you if you do something dumb. It's just too good to resist.

Three cheers for...

...SSSSSNNNNNNOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!

So, I guess those of you who live somewhere it snows regularly will think we're idiots, but yip yip yippeee--- it's snowing! May not even stick or have anything resembling accumulation, but it sure is fun to watch outside the window of my office. :-)

Spastic Museum-Goers

This story takes me back in time a bit.

In 11th grade, I took the National French Exam and came in 3rd in my state. In 12th grade, I came in 2nd (only because another bigger nerd than me from my same French class who had no friends and studied all the time beat me by one question). So, when our school coordinated a trip to Paris for some of the French students, I was first in line to go! It was a blast, and I spent most of my time translating off the walls of cathedrals, trying to avoid smelly tour guides, and making sure my vegetarian friends ordered the right kind of pizza at Pizza Hut outside of the Pompidou center. I got to go to Pere Lachaise cemetary, and witnessed a super-bizarre marijuana-smoking and wine-drinking ceremony at Jim Morrison's grave (the highlight of the trip, from my teenage perspective). I saw the Louvre, the Museum d'Orsay, and the palace at Versailles, spent all my shopping money on pastries, and got to hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Zenith.

At the Louvre, I was busy talking to friends (like 17 year old girls do) and not paying attention to where I was going. I tripped over something, and then regained my balance and continued talking to my friends while walking along. I heard my friends shouting, "You eeeeeeeeeee-diot! Look where you're standing!!" That was about the same time I saw the grimacing security guard charging toward me. It was only then that I looked down and realized I had tripped over a small barrier edging, and was standing in the middle of an ancient Greek mosaic artwork that had been painstakingly relocated to the floor of the museum, one tile at a time.

Smooth move, right?

At least I didn't break anything.

My little girl did well in 1st grade today. The teacher said she finished her work before everyone else, picked up quickly on some of the new material, handled the 1st grade math with ease, and had to be moved up to the 2nd grade reading book because 1st grade was too easy for her. God bless private schools, because I wonder how amenable to meeting her individual educational needs the public schools would be. The school my kids are at is far from perfect, but it is perfect for us, for now. :-)

Me in the News!

The local paper did an article on me and podcasting that came out today.

Not the most flattering picture in the world, but oh well. I thought the story was pretty good, and since she was transcribing straight from an audio recording of her interview with me, you all now have proof that I speak (even unscripted) just as wordy and froo froo as I write. ;-)

Daddy-O should have his Praxis test scores back within the next week. Nail biting will continue until further notice.

Challenger

Watching the news on TV about the anniversary of the Challenger disaster, I remembered that I was in 5th grade when it happened, which made me feel really, really old. But, I'm 30. It's been 20 years.

I remember sitting in my classroom and my teacher, who had wanted to step out of the room to watch the liftoff, had us all raise our hands over our heads and hold them there. "Don't move a muscle-- I'll be right back," she said, and then she darted out of the room. When she returned a few minutes later, she was crying.

Sixteen years later, the Challenger incident would take on a new and more personal meaning in my life. At church, I befriended a new family who had just moved to town from Houston. The wife became a good pal of mine, their youngest child was the same age as my son, and their older daughters were great babysitters. When I first met them, I was chatting with the husband.

"So, you just moved here from Houston?"

"Yeah. I worked for NASA."

"Oh. What did you do for NASA?" (Expecting some sort of engineer or management kind of response.)

"Well... I was an astronaut."

By this time, I was about to fall over. Somehow, I sucked it up and tried to act cool-- "Oh, well I guess that's pretty cool."

"Yeah, I guess," he said.

So much for cool, I decided, and asked the typical stupid non-astronaut question. "So, what's it like being in space?" DOH!

"Do you mean before or after you quit throwing up?" he asked.

"Haha... heh... Uh, so, where'd your wife go?" That was it for that conversation.

Over the next year or so that I lived in their town, we got to know their family much better, and actually had many more (far less dorky) conversations about the space program, being an astronaut, and aviation (his real passion). I learned (through my own snooping at the NASA web site-- not through his bragging) that he had done over 800 hours in space, including over 18 hours of extra-vehicular activity (space walks to repair the hubble, I think). Way cool.

But his wife was my real best buddy, and my partner in crime. She didn't have to work, as she had saved wisely from her many years as an executive for one of the major oil companies. Like me, however, she was an armchair psychologist who loved people too much to just stay home. So she took a job pouring coffee at a local coffee shop, and I would go by three days a week to study and chat the morning away. We talked about life, about God, about human nature, and about family.

And then Columbia fell apart, and our discussions shifted focus. She had never been scared before, she said, when her husband would go on his space missions. She'd keep her mind occupied, stay busy, and have fun with their girls. It wasn't until the Columbia disaster happened that she felt the reality of the risks he had taken full force, and was terrified of what her life would have been like without him. Each night since the disaster, she said, she had held him, often crying, as she fell asleep, not wanting to let go.

Hearing one of my closest friends at the time say this, it was very easy for my heart to just ache for what the other people had lost. No, it wasn't my friend or husband lost in the Columbia disaster, or the Challenger disaster for that matter, but it was someone's spouse, parent, child, sibling, or loved one. And having that understanding made even more real in my life, my heart broke even more for the loss of precious lives, big dreams, and determination to do more.

My former astronaut pal and I would sometimes be in the coffee shop together, visiting with his wife on the same days. When she would get busy and have to leave us for a while, we'd sit and read the paper together, and talk about the news. Reading all the reports post-Columbia that questioned the importance of continuing space travel and implied that sending people into space isn't worth the risk we are taking, my friend was not happy. Everyone who enters the space program understands the kinds of risks they are facing, and knows that death is an unlikely, but possible, fact of the job. And yet still, many continue on, pursue careers as astronauts, and take the risks that come with it. NASA is obligated to do everything in its' power to make it as safe as possible, but there will always be a risk, just as there will always be people willing to take on that risk.

I guess my point is this: Every person on those shuttles knew what kinds of things they were facing, and still moved forward with courage and determination to discover new things that could, in the end, help those of us who are not willing or able to take those risks ourselves. Honor their memory, but also their courage. They were, and continue in our memory to be, awesome examples of bravery and dedication.

In other news, I'm in a foul mood today and almost didn't even write this post. (Deleted because problem has been resolved.)

And whoever it is that found this site by searching for "strippers in san diego"-- get a life. I'm glad you didn't find what you came here looking for.

Grrrrrrr.... I'm a grouch today.

Yep. Very weird.

I am worth $2,316,044 on HumanForSale.com

When I drop the rest of this weight I've been elliptical-ing to death, I'll be worth even more. :-)

My IQ is worth significantly more than any other factor, according to their analysis.

Any takers? If my husband realized I was worth that much, he might just sell.

Skype = Disaster, and my political views

I'm on a no-Skype-interviews kick for a few weeks until I can get my head out of my rear and remember things like setting my mic to cardioid patters so I don't get booming computer hums in the background on the interviews. Luckily, my next few interviews are local (within a couple of hours drive) to me, so I will have a few weeks to get myself together before trying a Skype interview again, and perhaps sometimes in that few weeks I'll draft a little Skype interview checklist for myself to remember to fix all the crap that has made past Skype interview audio sound so crappy. Grrrrr. Anyway, if you can tolerate the hum, my latest podcast is up now, and interview is REALLY, REALLY good. :-)

My next few interviews are with someone who was adopted (to go wtih the audio I have had sitting on my computer for over a month of an interview with someone who gave up a baby for adoption), my local Wal-Mart greeter (who is a gospel preacher and VERY animated fellow), and a couple of other friends. I have another Skype one set up for February 25 (with the mother of a teen boy with autism), so hopefully I'll have it together by then. Hmmm...

And I took John's test. No big surprise here!

You are a Social Moderate (43% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (36% permissive) You are best described as a: Centrist Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Problem Resolved

:-)

Just a quick post to say that our educational issues have been resolved! I went in this afternoon to talk to the Principal about my concerns, and the school's owners' daughter-in-law (who just happens to be my oldest child's primary teacher, a close friend of our family, and the Elementary Director) overheard our discussion. Turns out that she and my daughter's teacher had been discussing her educational needs a good bit over the past two weeks, and were getting together some supplemental materials (chosen by the 1st/2nd grade teacher) to try to keep her occupied, since they didn't know if she would want to leave her kindergarten friends and move to the 1st/2nd grade class. But they felt wholeheartedly that she was academically and emotionally ready for that promotion, and my husband and I have to agree. Particularly since we're in a school where children are placed according to educational needs rather than simply their age, the move just made sense. It's nothing unusual to find a 12 year old in the 5th/6th grade classroom doing 5th grade language arts and 6th grade math; or to find an 8 year old in the 3rd/4th grade classroom doing 4th grade math and 5th grade reading. It has just enough of a one-room schoolhouse feel to it that every kid is treated individually, and mixed age groupings are common.

With all that in mind, my husband and I talked about it, discussed it with the Principal and Elementary Director, and discussed it with our daughter. She can't wait to move up, and starts as a 1st grader (probably in the 2nd grade reading group) on Monday. She has the option to do afternoon activities (art, music, crafts, centers) with either the 1st/2nd grade class or with the kindergarteners, and we'll play that by ear until we see how things progress. I'll meet with the 1st/2nd grade teacher after her first full week in that class, and find out what our next move will be, if any.

So that's it! Problem solved!

In other news, my beginning band students are starting to sound like a band of musicians! I almost started crying today in band, thinking about how this little handful of kids and teens in a super-small private school can now play pretty well on their flutes, clarinets, trumpets, and trombones, and that I brought that to them. :-) Gleeeeeeeee!

Attempts at real blogging

As much as it is one of the simple joys of my life to incessantly discuss strippers and porn, enough of that for now. If I get an interesting interview with a current or past stripper for my podcast at some point, then I'm sure we'll revisit the issue. But for now, I want to avoid giving the impression that my life is all about hot chicks.

Let's talk about something more sensible. Like body hair.

Gentlemen: If you're that obsessed over whether or not your woman shaves daily, weekly, or never, you need to rethink a couple of things. For starters, time. If a lady is running late and doesn't take the time to shave in the shower, too frickin' bad. At least she showered. Get over it. And if it's winter-- puhleeze. If she wants to run around looking like she's wearing some hairy legwarmers, she can. If she doesn't complain about your body hair, man stench, and beer belly, she can be hairy. And yes, (name omitted to protect the not-so-innocent but someone I like a lot anyway), I am talking to you. ;-)

Wait... That's not a whole lot better than talking about strippers and porn, now that I think about it.

It might even make me sound weirder. Maybe I'll go put some strikethrough on it and try again.

Ugh.

My 5 year old daughter has been dragging for the past few weeks, when it comes to getting up and getting ready for school in the mornings. She finally broke down this morning, started crying, and told me that she hates school. I'm sure part of it has to do with the fact that it's been pretty cold and rainy lately, and they aren't getting as much outside time at school as kindergarteners should. But part of it is that she's bored. She started sounding out words when she was 3, and finished reading all two hundred eighty-something pages of her children's Bible before her 5th birthday-- all by herself. She can do double digit addition and subtraction in her head (don't really know how she picked that up; she's been doing it for months), and loves to write letters to people (wonder where she gets that?). "Mommy, they make me do math and Ms. Debbie makes everyone count sticks, and I can do it without counting sticks. And they make us spell things one letter at a time, and I can write the whole sentence all by myself!" And the complaints went on and on.

I remember my school years vividly. Like a big nightmare.

I was a lot like my daughter, and learned to read and do math early. When I went into kindergarten, my teacher gave me a hard time. Why did your mom have to teach you to read early, anyway? Mom never really taught me to read-- she just read to me and answered my questions. In 1st grade, they realized I was drowning in my own boredom. So, worried that letting me skip to 2nd grade might cause emotional adjustment issues, they came up with a much more bizarre plan. Beginning in first grade and lasting all the way through 7th, I was in two grades at once. I would go to school with the kids my age for social studies and math (and they all thought I was the weird smart kid), and then I would go to school with kids a year older for language arts (and they all thought I was the little nerd).

In 4th grade, I moved to a school that had a good gifted program called PELICAN. It meant that several other gifted kids my age and I got pulled out for a full day one day each week to do hands-on projects, experiments, and study units, and it was SOOOOOOOOOO COOL! But my time in the regular classroom was still painfully boring, so they started pulling me out a second day each week to go to PELICAN with the older kids, too. So, I was in 4th grade for a half day and 5th for a half day three days each week, pulled out for 4th grade gifted program one day each week, and pulled out for 5th grade gifted the other day each week. That was when I was 9.

Sixth grade brought another cranky teacher who was annoyed that I needed to do a different reading level. I don't know why you can't just do the same book everyone else does! Um, because I did it last year?

Eighth grade brought band (woo-hoo!), and tracking, which meant that I got fed into all the honors classes and could finally be in one grade, with kids my age. It also meant that things got pretty easy, and I could skate by without doing my homework. That lasted through high school, and I never really developed anything that could be considered a study habit, much less study habits, plural. I rarely ever did homework, but could ace the tests if I listened even a little bit in class, and graduated high school with a good bit of AP credits and dual-enrollments and was accepted into the honors college at USC-- which I immediately bombed out of, having no study habits, no self-discipline, and having had any true enjoyment of education beaten out of me by a history of whacked out attempts at engaging me academically.

Enter the homeschooling idea. I homeschooled my children up until this school year, so this whole school thing is pretty new to me. I had enjoyed homeschooling because of the freedom to challenge my children, teaching them at an individual rate that wasn't to pushy but that did encourage self-discipline and taught my children the joy of a good challenge.

I don't want to look like a freaky parent who is controlling or delusional about my child's capabilities, but I sure as anything don't want them being bored. I have seen firsthand how boredom with the educational process can create bad study habits, instill a lack of self-discipline, and generate a general disregard and disrespect for the educational process in general, and educators in particular. I don't want my kids growing up with that. I want them to always challenge themselves, to always know that education is SUCH a gift and a blessing, and to enjoy the process of learning new things as much as they did back when we were homeschooling.

Hmmmmmm.... Not sure what to do.

See, this is the kind of wacko post you get from me when I'm sleep deprived from staying up too late to edit the podcast. I didn't quite finish, but it should be up by tomorrow, and this is going to be a good one. AND a reporter from the local newspaper sat in with me so that she can write a feature article in Saturday's paper about podcasting and local podcasters. Oh wait, I'm the only podcaster in my town (that I know of). ;-)

And I promise to those of you who listen to the 'cast that after this, I have several in-person interviews planned, so you will be spared the skype audio quality, at least for a little while.

Ho-hum. Better start my day.

A Good Day

Geez, now I have performance anxiety after all the responses to my last post, Acceptance and Change. And all I have time to blog about today is that yesterday was a good day.

I got a very exciting phone call yesterday afternoon, and while I'm going to wait to see how it pans out before telling more about it here, it could bring a bit of publicity and more listeners to my podcast.

I wasn't planning to work out last night, but the phone call got the ol' adrenaline flowing so freely that I went to the YMCA and did the elliptical, weight training, and the rock wall (did I mention I'm terrified of heights?), which was all exhilarating.

On the way home from the Y, with no makeup on and wearing gym clothes, I got carded at the store. C'mon! I'm 30, for crying out loud.

I spent 45 minutes soaking in a bubble bath in my lit-only-by-my-favorite-scented-candle bathroom last night, blasting my "Inspire" playlist on my iPod.

I was snoring by 10:00 pm. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh....

And I have a very good interview scheduled for tonight. :-)

Now I just have to work my rear off at work today so that I can finally get caught up from the daily stuff I let fall by the wayside while I was freaking over year-end. I. Can. Do. It.

MFP Episode One: Acceptance and Change

So, I don't do a very good job of keeping secrets about myself, particularly when I think there might be something to be learned from the experience. This has, over the past few years, led me to embarrass a few people by awkwardly telling someone something that, while not so big of a deal to me, freaked them out just a bit. It's not intentional, trust me. It's just that my experiences are, well,... just part of my life to me, and I sometimes forget that we each have our own comfort level (based on our own unique experiences) with what experiences we consider to be just a normal part of life, and which ones we consider to be pretty far out of the mainstream. But I'm rambling...

I've been thinking a bit about acceptance in how we share the love of Christ lately, and it has brought me to thinking about one of the more bizarre parts of my past that you, dear reader, may or may not really want to be privy to. So, I will start to categorize these more bizarre, possibly TMI posts under the "My Freaky Past" headings, and today, I'll start with Episode One: Acceptance and Change. Read at your own risk. :-)

The Background

There was a time, back when I was in college the first time around, when quite a few of my female friends from college decided to go get jobs as topless dancers. Over the course of a year or two, I had the chance to see how working in that kind of environment affected them emotionally, spiritually, and academically, and got more of an insight than I was ready for into what happens to girls who work in the sex industry. During that time, I had a chance to get to know several girls who worked as dancers, call girls, and porn actresses. Many of them came from rough childhoods in which a good number of them had been sexually abused, and most of them had drug and alcohol problems ranging from excessive drinking and pot smoking to doing hard drugs. And then there were a few who were really nice girls-- just very much confused and struggling with who they were. I became close friends with a couple of the nicer girls who weren't scary-- just scared, and wanted to find a way to help them out.

At the time, I was living in an apartment completely paid for by Double Agent, who was rarely ever in town. I hated living alone, and needed a roommate anyway, so I approached one of my pals who was a dancer, and made her an offer. The offer was like this: she could move into my spare bedroom, rent-free, if she wanted to quit dancing and get her life back on track. She was welcome to stay with me as long as she wanted, as long as she didn't go back to work in clubs, and didn't do drugs. She took me up on it, quit dancing, and stayed with me for almost a year before moving out to get married.

Over the next year or so, I had a small handful of girls take me up on a similar offer, and almost always had at least one roommate. Some of them left to return to dancing and partying it up, and others left to get back into college or some other form of somewhat normal life. Word spread.

The Story

One day, during one of my roommate-free phases, I got a call from a complete stranger. "Hi, Christy. You don't know me, but XXXXXXX (who used to live with you) gave me your #. I'm coming into Columbia for a photo shoot and need a place to stay. Do you mind if I crash with you for a few nights?" Being 19 years old and stupid enough to let a stranger come stay with me (I figured that since I was friends with the photographer, it couldn't be that bad), I agreed. We made plans, and a week later, A* was on my doorstep.

Now, A* was not doing a photo shoot for Good Housekeeping, and while I won't mention the specific magazine, it is one of the higher end, less-trashy, erotic magazines. And in line with what I would have expected, A* was a real party girl. But she was also a single mom with a sweet streak and big heart, who loved discussing psychology and human nature during late night heart-to-hearts, and who was open to new experiences. I didn't treat her like anything other than a true friend, and we became instant best buddies. A* invited me to go to a local bar to sing karaoke with her, and I did, and we had a blast! I invited A* to come to an Advent-wreath-making dinner at my church, and she did (even though she had to borrow some of my clothes to have something appropriate to wear). I also taught A* how to make these cute little craft wreaths out of fabric scraps and straw wreaths, and she LOVED it! I'll never forget how hard we both laughed when some guy who had gotten her number at the bar the night before called, and she told him she couldn't go out because I was teaching her how to be Martha Stewart (before the prison time) and she was having too much fun making wreaths to go party with him. I think he was more-than-a-little-bit offended.

To make a long story a little shorter, what was supposed to be a weekend visit turned into a 3 month roommate (with A* traveling home a few times over that period to spend time with her daughter). In a number of late night girl talks, A* told me that nobody had ever treated her like she was just a normal person before, and told me how nice it was to not feel judged or looked down on or stereotyped. The night before A* did finally leave to return home for good, we both sat up all night crying. All her friends back home were crazy women, strippers, and generally not very good people, she said, and she didn't know how to make real friends any more. But she went home anyway, and we stayed in touch for a few years after that. One year later, when I found out I was going to be a single mom, A*'s mother invited me to move to Tennessee to live with them, as they wanted to return the favor of kindness I had shown, but it just didn't feel like the right thing to do. A few years later, I heard she was married.

The Point

I think that most of us Christians (and other religious people, as well) insulate ourselves a little too well from those people we think are off the path, or led astray, or under the wrong influences, at the expense of truly changing people's lives. Granted, my life is different now. I have more responsibilities and a family to care for and help protect, so inviting random party people to come and live with me is not an option. As a dedicated Christian, teacher, and family person, I'm not really into the same kind of partying I used to do from time to time, back when my life was different. I might talk trash from time to time, but don't really have the interest or desire to do the kinds of things that would take me off the path. But I am still in contact with a good number of my old pals, and don't really feel that much discomfort or embarrassment about it.

See, A* was a big lesson for me on how a good number of people live according to the expectations placed upon and opportunities offered to them. Back in Tennessee, as an exotic dancer and model, A* had been a complete party girl-- living the life one would expect of someone in that position. But for the brief time she was staying with me, she actually enjoyed going to church, playing board games at the apartment, and getting to know my friends, who were all pretty mellow and straight-laced by that point in my life. She had a support system (me, Maher, and a couple of other pals of mine from Church) who encouraged her and had fun with her, all within the context of healthy friendships, complete acceptance, and good, clean fun. I didn't preach to her about the evils of her lifestyle, and she didn't complain to me about the boringness of mine; we just became part of each others' lives, took each other at face value, and accepted each other as humans. No preaching, no judging, no snobby lectures.

And that changed both of us for the better-- more so than anything else that we could have done together.

Here's the challenge, though: After A* left to go back home, she went back (at least partly) into the lifestyle from which she had come. As straight-laced and modest as she had enjoyed being while she was around me and my pals, once she was back around her old pals, she fell back in line with them.

Which brings me to the issue of acceptance. I am one person, and a flawed person at that-- insecure, hypersensitive, and moody. But I take people as people, usually treat them with respect, and am generally not very judgmental of the people who come into my life. Thinking of A*, and how being accepted changed her lifestyle and self-image a bit (even if only temporarily), I can't help but wonder how many more people's lifestyle and self-image could be changed if they truly felt accepted by those they consider to be normal, or typical, or mostly-good people. Granted, I know that only God can effect a true change in a person's heart, but how many people are closed off to even accepting the love of God in their hearts, when they don't even feel the slightest bit of that love and acceptance coming into their lives from God's people?

Those of us who are people of integrity know that we are humans-- flaky, flawed, and imperfect. But to someone who is now and has always felt like s/he has been on the outside looking in, we can seem a bit larger than life, and our judgments upon the people whose lifestyles we reject can do more to drive people away from God than we ever imagined.

But how do we show our acceptance of the people we encounter without giving a false endorsement of a lifestyle we may not like? I think we have a pretty good role model for that, and it sure isn't me. Jesus spent time with people that others in his day wouldn't go near, and the mere fact of his acceptance and friendship opened hearts, just as it continues to open hearts today. So, doesn't it make sense that we should follow that example, and somehow work to find that balance between honoring our own purity while still demonstrating the love of Christ?

I'm not a master at this, obviously, as I still have so much to learn and grow and live. But I think it's something that we should at least be discussing, thinking about, and praying about. What do you guys think?

Sunrise, pictures, podcasts, and yumminess

This is sunrise at the beach, photographed from our balcony last weekend. You can check out more pictures at flickr (my user name is the same as my primary email). Most of the pics of my kids are friends and family only, so you'll have to add me as a contact and let me know who you are if you want full access. :-)


In other news, my husband is a saint, and not just for putting up with me. The man realizes how the one thing I miss most about living here in a small town is the lack of places to go to get yummy ethnic foods. Last night, he prepared an awesome spread of meal and snack food for me... Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Thai stir fry with peanut sauce for dinner, and then tabouleh and homemade hummus on pita for snack. Oh. My. Goodness!