tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4269476475744978792024-02-19T16:57:27.141-08:00Where Life and Ministry MeetMusings on making life and ministry a seamless garment.Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-87966737776770486872016-07-15T14:02:00.000-07:002016-07-15T14:02:05.614-07:00Can you find the first world questions?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I have not blogged here for some time. I have been concentrating
on Gramasylum in blogging for the last year or so. Now I am preparing to go to
Africa, Malawi to be exact. I am part of a four person team and we
actually have been preparing for about three months using a short term mission
team manual. Very good stuff and our team has been challenged and had fun
already!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But today we leave. So today I am doing the last minute packing
and the questions that I have been pondering have been curiously all across the
board! I have been a bit stunned by how deeply I can be thinking one moment and
how very shallow my thoughts are the next. I came to realize just a few minutes
ago that it is the result of first world living versus third world living.
Though I have been preparing to enter and serve in a developing country, I am
still very much entrenched here in the United States of America. Here you often
hear people make some remark about a difficulty and then, a little embarrassed
they say, "First world problem." Today, I haven't said it out loud.
But I have thought it at least 2o times this morning as I do the final packing.
See if you can find the "first world problems/questions".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So I have been asked to teach evangelism to volunteers who will be
coming to a school from many villages around. Some of them walking many miles
to attend. All of them sleeping in tents for one or two weeks in order to
be at this discipleship event sponsored by Fishers Trainers and Senders
out of Lilongwe, Malawi. The Executive Director is Louise Laubscher who is from
South Africa, but been ministering in Malawi for 30 years. She is a saint. And
she has worked hard to raise up indigenous leaders so that most of the ministry
is led by men and women from Malawi. Stonard is her right hand person and a
real gem of God's work! I was asked to teach on WHY evangelize and WHO to
evangelize. These are very straightforward questions and easily supported and
taught by the Bible. I did lesson plans using familiar and story based
scripture. And then I got to the part of creating questions that will help these folks apply these biblical
principles to their every day life. I. Know. Almost. Nothing. About. Their.
Everyday. Life! “How can I possible teach them evangelism?” I wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Five minutes later I am finally packing up my bathroom stuff and
wondering, “How will I keep my hair from going flat? Should I bring my hair
texturizer?” And, what hair blower should I bring? I ask myself. “The one I am
used to or the smaller travel one under the sink?” And, I wonder, “will the
outlets where I will be staying will be able to handle the wattage?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As I start to pack my make-up, I congratulate myself silently that
I am not taking it all. No eye shadow, no highlighter, and no lipstick. Nope,
not third-world ready me. I will only take my eye brow brush and cake, my
eyeliner and brush, and my mascara. Wait. Maybe I will take my blush, too. Of course then I realize I need make-up
remover to take it off each night. Then a question I hardly ever ask enters my
mind…What would happen if I did not wear any make-up while I am there? Then I
would not need the make-up or the remover. But, how would they view me? How
would I view myself?! Then came the haunting questions, “What is the best way
for me to go and be with them in the most authenticate and humble and
servant-hearted way?” Why do I care about any of this stuff? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Oh for goodness sake! Then forget about showering for the two
weeks, I don’t need soap shampoo, or towels, or deodorant. Well, maybe
deodorant, if I am not going to shower for two weeks. And, I’ll just wear the
same clothes for two weeks. No need to pack multiple anything and no need to
wash clothes by hand when I get there. Shoot! I don’t even need a suitcase! I
will just bring a backpack. I do need to brush my teeth. I can imagine not
showering for two weeks. I cannot imagine not brushing my teeth for that long.
The fuzz and slime would make me throw up and that would not be good!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">You can see I have gone back and forth from the sublime to the
ridiculous pretty effortlessly! The bad news? I leave in less than an hour. No
time to rethink all this. The good news? This mishmash of questions, first and
third world, are evidence that God is already working in me substantially. I
can count on one hand the days I have gone out of the house without make-up on. (Notice blog picture is WITH!) To ponder such a thing can only be God invading my space! And, I will trust the
saint who invited me to come and teach. She DOES know these people and this
culture and believes that God can <b><i>use me there</i></b>. What a crazy thought.
Which brings up another question. How can God do that?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-24714252855391973582015-12-13T21:10:00.000-08:002015-12-13T21:10:05.159-08:00Gramasylum has its own space now.Thank you to all of you who have been reading my grandmother stories here. As of last Friday Gramasylum has its own little cyberspace. Gramasylum.com is up and running. This is a dream that has been in the making for about five or six months. I am so excited it has come true. I would have languished a long time in the "trying to get it done" category. My talented daughter Anne helped me make it happen in one afternoon. All the related posts have been transferred to that site and tonight I posted the first brand new blog to that site. I will blog there at least once a week about the crazy love of a grandmother. I also invite readers to share their grandparent stories and with permission I will post some of those. I hope you become a regular visitor at Gramasylum and, if you enjoy it, tell your friends and relatives.<br />
<br />
Soon, I will resume blogging here about life and ministry. I hope you will continue to come here too, to enjoy what I am learning about making life and ministry a seamless garment. It is not easy. But it is the heart of the life of faith because we are all called to live whatever life we have been given for the sake of others and the sake of Christ's kingdom. Life and ministry really are a seamless garment. I hope you will enjoy both blogs. <br />
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Peace and joy to you and yours this blessed Christmas season.<br />
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Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-81592426911311617092015-12-09T23:19:00.002-08:002015-12-09T23:24:30.402-08:00A Four Year Old Asks The Six Million Dollar Question<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The latest cause for Gramasylum arrived almost five months ago. Colette Rose, is number four grandchild so I have not had the concentrated time with her that I had with her sister Laurel who was the first Blankman grandchild. The time discrepancy shows. Colette, called Coco so as to keep up with Lolo, is not as crazy about Cece as Cece is about her.....yet. This one is very partial to her mother and the feeding accoutrements that she alone possesses. I got her to take a bottle once so far. I had her in the front carrier thingy-majingy, and when she was beginning to nod off, I put the bottle in her mouth and she began sucking and actually took most of the bottle. I felt so accomplished! Figured we had made great strides toward mutual admiration.<br />
<br />
Then came last weekend. I drove to their house in San Diego to take care of Coco so mom and dad could go to a Christmas production of The Grinch with big sister Laurel. Let's just say we did okay. But there was no taking a bottle this time. And the Cokes, another name for this latest little bundle, is also very particular about how she is to be held and what the person who is holding her is supposed to be doing. Basically, Coco prefers you up and moving...all the time. And even when she falls asleep, she must have some kind of an internal level mechanism. As soon as you try to sit down or lay down, and she is no longer perpendicular to the floor, her eyes pop open and she protests substantially enough to get you up and moving again.<br />
<br />
Later in the afternoon the parental returned with Lolo. Coco was very pleased to see her mom and to be reunited with the accoutrements only her mother can provide. Then the parental units left again to go to a party. This time leaving big sister Laurel with Cece, too. Lolo was anxious to play with Cece. It was not to be. Coco was in charge. There are few games that can be played, and no books that can be read while holding, and walking around and bouncing a five month old baby. So, each time Lolo asked if I could play with her, I had to respond that we would have to wait until Coco was asleep. I think Lolo had enough experience with her little sister to know this was not likely going to happen any time soon.<br />
<br />
Lo finally spoke her mind.<br />
<br />
"Where's Papa," Laurel asked?<br />
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"Papa is at home," I responded.<br />
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"Why didn't he come to help take care of the baby," Lo inquired further?<br />
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"His favorite team has a football game," I explained, "and Papa wanted to watch it."<br />
<br />
Laurel now placed her hand on her hip and twisted her mouth in the way one does when one is puzzled or irritated. Then she asked the six million dollar question.<br />
<br />
"What's more important? Football or helping to take care of the baby," Laurel asked with serious conviction?<br />
<br />
Wow. Not quite four and a half years old and this little woman understands priorities! How was I to answer this serious challenge?<br />
<br />
"That's a great question, Lo," I responded. Truth be known, my mouth was a little twisted, too. I had asked Papa the same question.<br />
<br />
Then I passed off the responsibility to answer the question to the one who was responsible for the question being asked. "You'll have to ask Papa that," I added.<br />
<br />
What's more important? From the mouths of babes. In Papa's defense, when Lo visits he is at her beck and call and is also a pretty crazy grandparent. After she visited the last time he explained that he doesn't always feel like playing what she wants to play. But, he realizes that there will come a day when she will not ask him to play with her anymore. So, he will take advantage of it while she is still asking. Have you ever seen an over sixty man playing Barbies? Trust me. It makes up for several football game absences! <br />
<br />
What's more important? Coco finally did go to sleep and hard enough so that I laid her down and she stayed asleep. I then helped Lolo take a bath, and brush her teeth and get jammied up. Lolo and I got to play and read a book before mom and dad returned home. I kissed her goodbye and her daddy brought her outside to wave goodbye to me as I backed out of their driveway to head home. <br />
<br />
I had been on duty about nine hours. It was late. I had about an hour drive home. And, I had to preach the next morning! But what is more important? This day called for a crazy grandma. I'm so thankful that I have the credentials!<br />
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Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-89307649778570340022015-12-03T13:43:00.003-08:002015-12-03T13:43:33.939-08:00Kiwi Ear Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Gramasylum has been on the shelf for three weeks. The first week of November I got word my mother was not doing well. We moved her to a new care facility and so I made flight plans to go see her. The day before I was scheduled to leave I got word she was declining pretty fast. I arrived on a Thursday evening. My mother passed away Saturday at 6 p.m. It was fast. I was there holding her hand and stroking her hair as she left this world. All three of my sisters and my brother were there, too. And, she knew we were there. It was a sad, precious, and sacred time. I am so grateful that I was able to be there, that my siblingss were all there together. Believe it or not it set the tone for Thanksgiving coming up the very next week. Gramasylum took to the shelf for these three weeks (almost four) but my own mother's dying actually energized my resolve to be as crazy a grandma as possible. So. Gramasylum is back. With renewed energy!</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">It started with a simple observation about a t-shirt. Sitting at
the counter for Thanksgiving dinner Laurel commented about the dinosaur on
Kasen's t-shirt. Laurel, 4, identified it as a T Rex. Kasen, 3, replied,
"No, it's a dinosaur." Laurel continued the conversation insisting
that it was a T Rex. Kasen continued to
correct her telling her it was a dinosaur. The tone and volume intensified.
Laurel tried very patiently to tutor Kasen in the particulars of the varieties
of dinosaurs. Kasen was not to be tutored. His resolve matched her patience
perfectly. The conversation was going nowhere good. </span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The adults at the big table were now fully engaged in following
the argument ensuing at the counter. And no one was intervening, yet. A sneak
peak toward the counter without disrupting the </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">going-nowhere conversation
revealed the arms of both children were now folded tight and the jaws were set.
The volley began.</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"You are a pillow with a flower on it," Kasen retorted!</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"You are an ear with a kiwi in it," Laurel proclaimed!</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yeah, well you are a pickle in water,” Kasen volleyed back!</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The adults were now laughing so hard turkey and dressing and
potatoes were flying everywhere. Where did this pseudo name-calling come from?
We could not wait to hear what was next. Then it turned serious.</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Then I am not going to talk to you anymore,” Laurel
declared!</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"I'm not going to talk to you," Kasen countered!</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Well then, I am not going to be play with you ever, ever again," Laurel replied.</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">"And I am not going to be your friend," Kasen countered.</span></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ok. Time for the adults to get involved. Kiwis and flowers are one
thing. Breaking cousin love is entirely another. I approached the counter and
did not try to tutor on dinosaurs and T Rexes, but on the importance of staying
in relationship. I can imagine them in ten years heading out the door together
to walk the beach. And in twelve or thirteen years driving away in a car to go
to the mall or a movie or a game with friends. One day they could be a huge
support to each other—not just cousins, but friends. I am not sure how much of
what I told them they understood. But a few minutes later they were arm in arm
running down the hall laughing and being as silly as usual. Such fun. Such a
blessing. Only one of the many blessings I am grateful for this Thanksgiving. Kiwi ear, pickle in water, flower on a pillow--I just love these little people and their crazy talk. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Would love to hear from some of you Gramasylum readers! What crazy things are you doing these days with your granz or are your granz doing with you? Post a comment below. We all need the enouragment to be crazy.</i></span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-21441255205802895692015-10-29T19:43:00.000-07:002015-10-29T21:54:06.090-07:00Choosing Crazy Chaos<br />
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<br />
The pictures say it all. This is what it means to open your heart (and home) to a grandchild. I have always been a neatnic and like my spaces clean and free of clutter. In fact, I cannot sit down to read or work if the space around me is chaotic. In every house we have lived in my children knew there was designated space for chaos--their bedrooms and a play room, and designated space for peace and tranqulity--all the rest of the house. Not anymore. Chaos rules.<br />
<br />
In 2013 we downsized and moved into a 1300 square foot condo (don't weep for us, it has an ocean view and it is only five minutes down the hill to the water). And between July 2011 and July 2015 four little people moved into our lives. The chaos began instantly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ic7fEjo4t5t4ZoDEdHaDfAEySpDv70H_sew-o3OEdn0KIHGcpQH5vdnL5IMF61BWlYmT_1JsJ9GWDDQqc65QSbmZwLdHF9G-xw9LFXhboE5TrRLHRNWAwrkW2do4ddqZf6KviPCsNYs/s1600/chaos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ic7fEjo4t5t4ZoDEdHaDfAEySpDv70H_sew-o3OEdn0KIHGcpQH5vdnL5IMF61BWlYmT_1JsJ9GWDDQqc65QSbmZwLdHF9G-xw9LFXhboE5TrRLHRNWAwrkW2do4ddqZf6KviPCsNYs/s320/chaos.jpg" width="240" /></a>When my children were babies we had a car seat, a stroller called an umbrella stroller because it collapsed to the size of one, and a diaper bag. That was it. Today? Oh my! These children come with a car seat that doubles as a carry and hold seat and has an awning and a expiration date! Which means the manufacturers make a lot of money on these expensive items because they expire! Who knew?! Then there is the portable collapsable cradling sleeper. It perfectly cradles the newborn and some of them even swing and play songs. I once lost our first child. I made a nice little bed for him on the floor next to our bed when we were visiting relatives in Austin, Texas. When we woke up in the morning he was gone. Nowhere in sight. After a very brief panic and a quick survey of the floor he was found under the bed, safe, cradled tight between the bed and the floor sleeping soundly.<br />
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And, have you seen the new jogging strollers? They are ginormous! In size and expense. They have three full size wheels that must be from Michelin, rolling smooth as silk and taking up the full sidewalk. You can buy two seaters which take up the sidewalk and one lane of the adjacent street.<br />
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They come with their own awning, too, and a storage compartment big enough to put two more kids in if you needed to. Then there is the backpack. It is filled with all the possible remedies and aids for one of any hundreds of potential circumstances that parents nowadays read about online that a baby could or might encounter... it never ends!<br />
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And as these little people get a little older an entire room of toys travel with them wherever they go! My dear LoLo has ONE play set that has ninety-two pieces. Ninety-two! And she has about a dozen of these sets. Oh my! So much for open clear space. Every square inch of our 1300 square feet are filled the evidence of the arrival of these precious little people. What isn't a toy or game, these innovative little people make into a toy or game. Of course, the bed is a trampoline. Some things never change. The kitchen floor is for putting puzzles together. The bathtubs are now canvases with all sorts of water soluable products to go crazy with. Closets are hiding places for little people and for various objects they decide to conceal from Papa and Cece. Blankets and chairs turn into tents that can be a hospital, a zoo, a castle or anything else they want it to be. And, I love it! What has happened to me?<br />
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When these little people enter your heart and home everything else takes a back seat. Who needs clutter free space when you have little people filling your house with endless chatter, squeals, and laughter? Who needs a coffee table decor fit for Houzz when you can have the space decked out for hours and hours of make believe play? Who wants compliments on a neatly and beautifully decorated home when you can have countess hugs and kisses from these little people telling you that they love you? There is no other explanation for this turnabout than absolute crazy love--certifiable craziness. It is Gramasylum and I am a proud and grateful permanent resident.Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-54423304792905145412015-10-18T20:15:00.002-07:002015-10-19T04:09:08.521-07:00Falling in Love at LegoLand?<em>I missed the Gramasylum post last Sunday night because I had to do some investigating to get the facts right on this one! It took awhile, but here it is!</em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It happened right under our noses. We knew it was a special
day. Our two oldest grandchildren have birthdays just three days apart. For
their birthdays this year, Lolo, four, and Kaso, three, we gave them<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a trip to LegoLand. Of course a three and
four year old can’t quite comprehend a gift that they cannot open or touch
immediately. But we did our best any way. We found pictures of LegoLand and
blew them up full page size and put them in a booklet that ended by telling them
they were going to LegoLand! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Hurray! Okay! Let’g go,” Laurel, said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yah,” said Kasen! And they both headed for the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Whoa! Kiddos,” I said. “We are not going today. We will
have to plan a time when the two of you can be together again and Papa and Cece
can take a day off and then we will go to LegoLand,” I explained, lamely, of
course. These cousins live three hours apart and have other smaller siblings.
This can seriously complicate such plans but we were all committed to find a
way to do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It took us two and a half months but we finally pulled it
off. On a Thursday afternoon in September Kasen’s mom came from Santa Clarita
with Kasen and his little sister. The next morning Papa, Cece, and Kasen drove
to San Diego to pick up Laurel. LegoLand is in Carlsbad, California, actually
half way between San Clemente and San Diego.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So it still required some logistics but we did it! On Friday, September
25, we made good on our birthday gift and arrived at LegoLand when the park
opens at 10 a.m. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so much fun to
see and hear their excitement. They were holding hands and giggling and Laurel
was intermittently wrapping her arms around our legs and saying, “Thank you,
Cece. Thank you, Papa.” Kasen in his own expressive way just walked alongside
me and said, “I love you Cece.” That’s good for unlimited trips to LegoLand or
wherever else the boy wants to go!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course the genius marketing folks of these establishments
place the “gift store” right at the entrance of the park. And other purchasing
opportunities are located throughout the park often at the conclusion of an exhibit or ride
where you exit, or at least try to exit through the gift shop. Yah, right! But
the main gift shop is the first thing you see when you walk in the main
entrance. And, of course, this is the first place a child wants to go who is
old enough to know grandmas and grandpas love to buy things for their
grandchildren. I did hold my ground and said we might go through there on the
way out but that our trip to LegoLand was their gift for the day. Kasen is not
yet old enough to initiate the buying ritual. Laurel, on the other hand is
already a pro. She had informed me when we picked her up that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her mom had said</i> that the trip to
Legoland was her gift but maybe, Cece, might buy her one small thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think LoLo might have had this reversed in
the telling of it. This is probably what Laurel told her mom! She is one smart
little cookie. Remember, this is the little woman who at three told her Cece
about self-talk as a means of calming your fears! But on this day, she was
incredibly circumspect and self-controlled and we walked right past the gift
store and we did not hear another word from her about buying something.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had a blast! We made Lego cars and Lego boats and raced
them. We went on rides and saw exhibits of amazing things made completely from
Legos. We cooled off<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in one of the water
pads in the park. We saw a stage performance of Best Friends Forever. Even in
the heat of the day and with no place to sit, Laurel was transfixed. Of course,
she knew the name of all four of the girls and every word of every song. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kasen, on the other hand, watched for about
five minutes and then decided to go sit with Papa in the shade. Go figure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the real show stopper of the day we found out about a
week later. Who knew a three year old could fall in love at LegoLand without
grandpa and grandma knowing anything about it? Yes, Laurel informed her mother and
father that Kasen had fallen in love at LegoLand. But wait, it gets even more
dramatic. She further informed them that Kasen was going to marry this little
girl. What?! When did that happen?
Neither Papa or I saw or heard anything. These kids were never out of our sight
or beyond hearing range. How could this happen right under our noses and us not
know anything about it?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So just this past weekend, Laurel was coming to stay with
us. I decided I would wait for the right time and then strike up a conversation
with her about exactly what happened at LegoLand. I knew that if I was too pushy
or brought it up at the wrong time I would likely get nowhere. I had to
practice my own self-control and be circumspect. The first night she stayed
over I was laying with her in her bed reading a book, when she asked me to tell
her a story. She likes me to tell real stories about her daddy and his sisters
when they were little and the silly things they did. I might embellish them a
little, but the basic plot is legit. Anyway, this was my opportunity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I said, “Hey, Lo, why don’t you tell me the story about
Kasen falling in love at LegoLand?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Laurel responded, “I don’t want to. Ask Kaso to tell you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This four year old
sprite was not going to get off that easy! “Come on, Lo. I heard you told your
mommy and daddy, so you can tell Cece,” I said as connivingly as I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>could.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Okay,” she said, sort of begrudgingly, “ Kasen fell in love
at Legoland.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Wait,” I objected, “there’s more than that. You told your
mommy he was going to marry the girl.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yah,” she offered still a bit reluctant, “I asked him
if he was going to marry her, and he said, yes.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay, so at least he did not initiate the proposal. Laurel
asked him. Trying not to push too hard, I inquired, “Where did this happen,
LoLo?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“At lunch,” she said without any hesitation, “when we were
playing in that little play house, he fell in love with the little girl that
was in there.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, my goodness! Right under our noses indeed! Sure enough.
Where we ate lunch there was a little play house about twenty feet away where
we could see them playing. But out of sight because we never saw the other
little girl that was in the little house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw LoLo and Kasen <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>running in and out of the house but I do not
remember ever seeing another child! Holy cow! What kind of delinquent,
incompetent grandma am I?! Crazy enough to have my grandson fall in love and
propose right under my nose without<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>me ever
even seeing the girl! And my four year old granddaughter saw it, heard it, and
was telling the story. The next time Kasen comes, I will cross examine him…I mean, I
will see what his explanation is. Laurel did not know her name. If Kasen knows
her name or has her cell phone number, that little girl is getting a phone call
from one very crazy grandma. A three year old falling in love and proposing right
under my nose. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, oh, by the way, they both picked out one little thing at the gift shop on the way out of the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gramasylum rules!</span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-11257002177881502932015-10-05T15:11:00.000-07:002015-10-05T15:11:52.930-07:00It's About the Space<div class="MsoNormal">
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In 2014, 18 billion dollars was spent in the United States on
traditional toys. These include everything from action figures to dolls to
building sets. At 3.6 billion outdoor toys and sports toys were the largest
portion of the 18 billion. I must confess I try hard not to. I say I am not
going to. But doggone it! When those granz look up at you with those eyes and smother you with hugs
and kisses and are just flat out adorable beyond description all my best laid
plans crumble and I buy them toys. I try to stay on the side of educational or
imaginative and creative, but let’s get real. Sometimes I just buy whatever
they want because I can! This is Gramasylum after all where it’s pretty clear where
much more powerful factors are in play than simply what is rational or cheap.</div>
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I am proud to say that I put away and stored, much to my husband’s
chagrin, a few…okay a lot… of select toys from when my own children were
little. We packed and moved them repeated times for 30 years before our first
grandchild showed up. I saved some money that way, right? And I am even more
pleased to say, and have pointed out to my husband often, that these are now some
of the our grandchildren's favorites. A Fisher-Price doctor set is in the
top five along with two Polly Pocket sets, Legos, and a canister with different
shaped holes in the top and different colored shapes that fit into those holes.
Bam! Some toys are classic. I even have a Mr. Potato Head from 35 years ago. I keep
this toy in my office and it rocks all the kids who come in with their parents.
It allows us to have somewhat meaningful adult conversation while the kiddos
pull him apart and put him back together in strange and wonderful ways. </div>
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But anyone who has been a child and remembers or anyone who
has had children or grandchildren know that the real child mesmerizer is not a
particular toy but space. Yes. Space. Every child from the beginning of time until
now loves having a special place to play. I don’t remember my mom or dad doing
it for me but I know I did it for our three kids and now I do it for our granz.
We take blankets and miscellaneous furniture and we drape it all to create a
play space. Kids go nuts. “CeCe, Cece! Make me a tent!” The tent becomes a
house, a hospital (where we use the 35 year old Fisher Price doctor set to play
doctor), a school room. Whatever it becomes it occupies their imaginations for
longer than any toy. Though it certainly does a number on general use of that
particular space for the duration of the play it is otherwise free except for
time and effort. No toy industry ringing up profits in this! But I have even
more proof that space wins over toys. I have photographic proof! Every toy box
I have ever used has itself become play space. The first toy box I used for my
grandchildren was the bright blue elephant you see in this blog. Laurel was
not even two when she started pulling all the toys out of the toy “box” and
crawled in it to play. Who needs toys? You just need a fun space! Then just
recently I got a new toy box. Not as fancy as the elephant but still a great fun space to play. (The blue elephant had become
damaged from all the crawling in and out of it and duct tape could not longer hold it together so it had to be retired.) Kasen is three but the last time he visited he emptied the new
toy box and crawled in as you can see in the other picture in this blog. The
look on his face says it all. Who needs toys when you can have a fun little
space just to be. </div>
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Special spaces are so easy and so much fun! Of course the
challenge for Grama Cece in the tent version is getting in and out and up and
down out of these spaces. The heart is willing. The body oh so resistant! It’s
why I prefer the actual toy boxes for their play space. These spaces are so
small even my little grandchildren know I cannot get into it with them! They
are satisfied to have me just pretend with them while they are in these spaces.
I pretend I can’t find them. I pretend they are a toy. I pretend I am going to
cover them with toys. It’s about the space. </div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-70419764662944427782015-09-27T22:29:00.000-07:002015-09-27T22:31:27.539-07:00Feeling Like Mrs. America<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a great day for playing at the beach. We set up and
then headed down near the water to dig and make castles and a lake. We like to
make our own little lake to splash in. Our lake was so cool it attracted other
kids. One little boy’s name was Liam. Liam was older but he played with us for
quite awhile. Then he asked, “What’s his phone number?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly, but he
repeated it, and sure enough, he was asking for my grandson’s phone number. I
resisted. What was he? Some kind of a toddler stalker?! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I introduced him to my grandson,
Kasen. But he persisted. He <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wanted his
phone number, and now, sounding a bit irritated, asked if I knew his phone
number. Then he explained that he was from Riverside and wanted it so the next
time he came to the beach he could call him to play. Ah! Finally it made some
sense but still weirded me out a bit. I did not give in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him Kasen did not live nearby and that
he would have to call me if he wanted to play because I was the one who lived
close by. He didn’t want my phone number.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kasen wanted to go and play in the water so we left Liam and
our little lake and went to play in the waves. Kasen started out pretty timid
but gradually he gained courage and we went farther and farther out to
encounter bigger and bigger waves. Trust me. I had a firm grip on both of his
arms but we ventured out far enough for him to get wet up to his neck. His fear
diminished and his delight increased proportionately. If not for my 60-year-old
back we could have played in the waves for hours. But what the heart wants the
back can rarely support. We headed back to the beach and our little lake.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We played there for quite awhile longer. No sign of Liam.
And when I began to feel the effect of the sun on my back and arms we packed up
to head home. Kasen did not want to quit but after a lengthy reassurance that
we would come again next time he visited we headed home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On our way down the beach trail we passed a young man
standing at one of those work-out stations. He was not working out at the
moment. But he was pretty ripped. Kasen saw him and stopped and said, “Hi.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young man smiled, but did not respond.
When I caught up I smiled and said hello, but I still did not hear him respond.
I pointed to Kasen and said, “Mr. Congeniality.” The young man just kept
smiling. Kasen took my hand and looked right at the man and said, “This is my
Cece.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We started walking again, and as
we left the young man still smiling and saying nothing, Kasen repeated, with
more inflexion this time, “ This is MY Cece, my Grandma Cece.”Then he added, “I
love you, Cece.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t care how ripped
or young that guy was. At that moment my weak and aching back was greatly
strengthened. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like Mrs. America
and the coolest person on the beach and crazy with love for this little guy who
declares to young men on the beach that I am HIS Cece and that he loves me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-58023307491343936082015-09-20T22:38:00.000-07:002015-09-20T22:50:38.835-07:00A Three-Year-Old Therapist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuAd4rHgPMzLIHqCM153o6vDOQnJkTbJkK3y4RONXPlLaGcjeqAg2IpTVCESn2td2Z30lcrpJcCLU1vqVlzqXNZbNbarbyvpkJFlFdYuEtDHTmaitW-dSwO-lzWrkopB_fO1QN1q4LPk/s1600/Self+Talk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuAd4rHgPMzLIHqCM153o6vDOQnJkTbJkK3y4RONXPlLaGcjeqAg2IpTVCESn2td2Z30lcrpJcCLU1vqVlzqXNZbNbarbyvpkJFlFdYuEtDHTmaitW-dSwO-lzWrkopB_fO1QN1q4LPk/s320/Self+Talk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was just after the first of the year. I was taking care of Laurel for the day, or so I thought. After shopping, lunch, and swimming and reading books we settled in to watch a movie--a children's movie. She picked "Tangled," the latest Disney version of Rapunzel. She told me that if I was going to be afraid she would hold my hand. How sweet! I thought this a rather strange reversal of roles, but I went along with it to encourage her sense of care for others. I am a pretty light weight when it comes to movies, but I knew I could handle a Disney movie. But for Lolo's sake, when Rapunzel was threatened by her wicked imposter mother, I pretended to be afraid. Ok. I might have tensed up some. Ok. I might have been a little afraid. Anyway, Lo noticed and took my hand. Then she began a conversation that I still have trouble wrapping my mind around. My three and a half year-old granddaughter said to her fully mature grandmother, <br />
<br />
"Cece. Don't be afraid. Self-talk."<br />
<br />
I replied, "What?" <br />
<br />
Laurel said, "When you are afraid, talk to yourself. Tell yourself not to be afraid."<br />
<br />
So, I complied with my three and a half year-old therapist, and began to say, "It's going to be okay, Cece. Don't be. . ."<br />
<br />
Laurel interrupted me. "No, Cece," she coached. "In your head. Talk to yourself in your head," she said while pointing to her head with a face every bit as serious as any counselor or therapist face I have ever seen.<br />
<br />
I was speechless. Not because I was following her instructions to only talk in my head. I had quit being afraid or pretending to be afraid of what was going to happen to Rapunzel. Now I was speechless because I was just astounded.<br />
<br />
"Where did you learn about self talk, Lolo," I asked her? <br />
<br />
"At school," she answered without any sense that this was not normal run-of-the-mill preschool curriculum.<br />
<br />
"Wow," I said, "How does self-talk work, Lolo?"<br />
<br />
Laurel commenced to explain it to me. Of course. She said that whenever she is afraid or feeling sad, she talks to herself, in her head, and says things that make her not afraid or sad. In way more vocabulary than any three and a half year-old should be able to use I was being coached on how to handle my emotions. She was counseling me. I was the patient and she was the therapist. Just one more piece of evidence of my certifiable residency in Gramasylum. <br />
<br />
We finished watching the movie. Though there were other tense moments, Rapunzel was rescued from her evil captor and I made it through with Lolo holding my hand and with intermittent self-talk. This little girl that has me crazy with love knows I am crazy and is willing to teach me how not to be quite so crazy. I can hardly wait to see what I learn from her when she starts kindergarten.<br />
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<em><strong>When did one of your grandchildren surprise you with an understanding of something you would never have suspected they knew anything about? Share your story by commenting below.</strong></em><br />
<br />Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-10968113694762579342015-09-12T21:23:00.000-07:002015-09-12T21:23:04.164-07:00Gramasylum and a Funeral<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWeI8wFxMJjvBiR2fv-GmCb7PQlX04XCxX6JGykI-SVUfx-j5Ta6xjfBBF7NGoXBLfKC3RWuIgs14cc2lfmRMHWJK1r0zSE-PY-CZEeVHvTdmfuN5RIsjDIn6rwT_m2OGhkuBdqzDhas/s1600/Meaning+of+the+Cross+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWeI8wFxMJjvBiR2fv-GmCb7PQlX04XCxX6JGykI-SVUfx-j5Ta6xjfBBF7NGoXBLfKC3RWuIgs14cc2lfmRMHWJK1r0zSE-PY-CZEeVHvTdmfuN5RIsjDIn6rwT_m2OGhkuBdqzDhas/s320/Meaning+of+the+Cross+2.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was honored that a reading club group at church chose to read my book and invited me to be their guest for their monthly discussion. The same day I ended up caring for my granddaughter so I arranged for her to be in the nursery at church while I met with the book club. As I carried her to the room she touched the necklace hanging around my neck and said, "Cece, will you tell me about this?" "This" was my cross necklace. What could I say?! What an amazing opportunity. My four year old granddaughter was asking me to tell her about the Good News of the gospel! I responded, "Lo, I would love to tell you about what this cross means!" But I was pretty close to being late for my morning book club invitation so I dropped her off at the nursery and told her that I would tell her when I got back.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><em></em></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><em></em></a>I do not think LoLo knows that I am a pastor or what a pastor does. And she did not know that just a few weeks ago I had introduced a sermon about the Good News using pictures of crosses--Madonna with a big cross necklace, a convicted murderer in prison tattooed with and wearing a cross, an arch entrance made up of hundreds of wooden crosses, and my own picture wearing this same cross she was now asking about. What was the meaning of all these cross displays? Who knows?! But now my wearing a cross provided me the opportunity to tell LoLo the story of Jesus' amazing love for her. I could hardly wait. <br />
<br />
When I picked her up at the nursery she had not forgotten and was all ears. As best I could, in four year old vocabulary (hers, by the way, is pretty incredible!) I explained to her that Jesus came to the world to tell us how much he loved us. I told her that Jesus told everyone and especially people that no one else loved. It was very hard for me to tell her that religious people (like me!) did not like it that Jesus was loving these kind of people and that they disagreed with what he told people about God. Jesus was telling people that God had sent him and that if they believed in him they would never die and that even if they did die, they would live again. It was really hard for me to tell her that religious people actually punished Jesus like a criminal. Criminals were hung on crosses to die. They hung Jesus on a cross to die. And he did. But he did not stay dead. He came alive again! And then he continued to love people and tell them that because he had died and lived again, the same would happen to them if they trusted him and believed him. I told her that I wear a cross to remind me of how much Jesus loves us. It all sounds a little crazy when you really think about it.<br />
<br />
I told LoLo that this meant that some day she would get to meet my father, her great grandfather, the person I wrote the book about. I told her that even if Cece (that's what she calls me) dies that she will get to see me again because I believe and trust Jesus. I told her that death is hard and makes us very sad, but that Jesus said not to be afraid, because he will take care of us when we die and one day we will all be together again. LoLo said, "I trust and believe Jesus." I said, " I hope you do, Lo. And I hope you will learn more about Jesus and how to trust him as you get older."<br />
<br />
Wow! What a holy, crazy sacred, moment. A student of Christianity for decades and an ordained pastor for twenty years and I was challenged by this request. I had read lots of books about Jesus to LoLo before. I have sung "Jesus Love Me" to her hundreds of times. But now she was asking. She was initiating the conversation. She was wanting to understand what the cross means. <br />
<br />
Later that day I officiated at a memorial service. I had prepared a brief message based on I Thessalonians 4 where Paul explains that Christians do not grieve as others do without hope. He says that because Jesus died and rose again, we have hope and are supposed to encourage each other with this Good News. I knew I had a very mixed audience at this service and did not know many of them at all. All of a sudden I realized that LoLo's question and the answer I gave her was exactly what Paul was teaching in this passage. My four year old granddaughter became a fresh example of the message I wanted to give this family and these friends of this man who suffered and died way too soon. The meaning of the cross is the only sure and hopeful word for people facing death and loss. And explaining this to even a four year old, maybe especially to a four year old, can bring great clarity to the truth. I told those gathered for the memorial that surely my granddaughter did not fully understand the things I told her, but then, neither do any of us! But there are all sorts of things (like electricity) that I use and live by and depend on that I do not understand fully or at all. It does not make them false, or any less dependable. Such is the meaning of the cross. Crazy!<br />
<br />
I wear my cross necklace often. I will wear it with more sense of purpose from now on. Being a grandmother and being a pastor are not all that different at the core. Being crazy in love with my grandchildren reminds me a lot of just how crazy God's love is for us. Gramasylum is a great place for a pastor to live.<br />
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-17810807352123180092015-09-04T19:18:00.000-07:002015-09-12T19:51:54.014-07:00Gramasylum Dividends Take Two<div class="s2">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><em></em></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><em></em></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><em></em></a><em>I tried to write and post this blog when I was on vacation last week using my IPhone and skethcy internet connections. I could not get the pictures to load properly. So I am reposting this blog with the pictures that helped to inspire it.</em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7BDnrzBFkImHZVP-fd4svjTpS25OGkIgh4NTXbV68p4nIssTlY5XgTue3T45ycOGNHRhPxTkWPn0Zs6P2GsDKtdT72AcRCo1d0Bn3Lt_VCYUR0jnuuD8xkDzG8A92wxiHhD55vVJa9Ug/s1600/Kaso+and+Lo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7BDnrzBFkImHZVP-fd4svjTpS25OGkIgh4NTXbV68p4nIssTlY5XgTue3T45ycOGNHRhPxTkWPn0Zs6P2GsDKtdT72AcRCo1d0Bn3Lt_VCYUR0jnuuD8xkDzG8A92wxiHhD55vVJa9Ug/s320/Kaso+and+Lo+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I love it when my grandchildren are excited to see me. I love it when they ask me when I am coming to get them or when they are coming to my house. I love it when they do not want to leave my house and fuss when I am leaving their houses. I love that they like being with me. But there is another relationship that for some reason resonates even more deeply for me. It is their relationship with each other. Gramasylum is not all about me.</div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">Laurel (LoLo) is four and Kasen (Kaso) is three. They do not live in the same community. Laurel lives an hour south of us. Kasen lives about two hours north of us. But we work hard to be together and they see each other at least once a month and usually for two or three days at a time. They know each other well. Whenever I talk to Kasen on </span></span><span class="s4"><span class="bumpedFont15">FaceTime, </span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">first thing he always asks, "Is LoLo there?" And when I talk to LoLo on FaceTime it is the same. She always asks, "Is Kaso there?" They love being together. Oh sure, they fuss and fight over toys sometimes. And, they can be jealous when I give my attention to the other on </span></span><span class="s4"><span class="bumpedFont15">occasion</span></span><span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15">.</span></span><span class="s4"><span class="bumpedFont15"> But the great majority of the time they are running and playing and laughing and making a full scale mess of our condo. And I love it. I love that they love each other. Kasen is a little more expressive of his feelings and so often initiates the love fest. Unsolicited and unencouraged by adults Kasen will just say, "I love you LoLo." And usually, not always, Laurel will reciprocate and say, "I love you Kaso." Even if her lips don't say it her tight hugs do.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s3"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Witnessing this cousin love stirs something deep inside my heart. Perhaps it is knowing that this relationship will likely long outlast their relationship with me. They will be together long after I am gone. I hope and pray they stay friends, playing and laughing together, fighting, yes, but also loving each other. I hope and pray that through the awkward preteen years, the challenging and oh so character shaping teen years, and whatever young adulthood brings their way, they will continue to ask, "Is LoLo there?" and "Is Kaso there?" I hope they will be friends and that they will always love each other. In this way my crazy love for them will live on way beyond my lifetime. My time as a resident of Gramasylum is an investment that will reap dividends for years, perhaps generations, to come.</span></span><br />
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Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-45624439875960899942015-08-24T01:01:00.000-07:002015-08-24T01:01:47.698-07:00The Power of the Jenna Jab
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She had her first birthday this past week. She <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is less than two feet tall and weighs less
than twenty-five pounds. Her vocabulary is limited to three or four words
amongst many undecipherable sounds. However, this little stick of dynamite gets
almost anything she wants and is able to get almost anywhere she wants to go with
one repeated syllable accompanied by a pointing finger and an arm bent and
straightened repeatedly. This gesture combined with, “Eh, eh, eh” will get the
job done. I call it the Jenna Jab.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did I mention there are adorable dimples in both cheeks,
though one very much more prominent than the other, and a smile that could melt
what’s left of the polar ice caps? Yes, the combination of these things mean
that Jenna rules the world she inhabits. If you are one fortunate enough to
have this little person waddle toward you with both arms stretched straight up in
the air making the “eh, eh, eh” sound--which means she wants you, yes, you, to
pick her up, and you do—from there on you are a slave. Wherever the Jenna jab
points you will go and whatever the jab points to you will give her, as long as
it is safe, of course. Trust me. These are the laws of nature in Gramasylum. As
gravity insists “what goes up, must come down,” in Gramasylum “what and where Jenna
jabs, Jenna gets and goes!” It’s life on this side of certifiable grama craziness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is only one obstacle currently in the way of her
absolute rule—her three-year-old brother Kasen. He is not taken with the Jenna
Jab. He regularly and consistently ignores it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, he goes further. He quickly interprets what it is she wants and is
big enough and quick enough to get it before she can and keep whatever it is out
of her grasp. Until a smitten parent or grandparent attends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would appear that the Creator, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>either to test parental negotiation skills, or
to ensure regular interaction, created a sort of sibling relational loop. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Younger siblings idolize their older siblings
and want whatever they have,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while at
the same time older siblings desire to teach younger siblings that might makes
right and that size matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jenna could jab her arm off and Kasen’s desire
to teach would not be diminished. Unless, of course some parental negotiator is
watching, which is almost all the time, and then it takes a little longer, but
the Jenna Jab eventually triumphs. After all, she is little and does not
understand (yah, right!) and he is the big boy who will teach her how to share
by sharing. Wait. Doesn’t that mean Jenna always gets what she wants? Is that
sharing? So the obstacle to her absolute rule, her brother, is also subject to
the Jenna Jab, even if delayed and involuntarily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, this might sound like Gramasylum allows partiality. The
short view would seem so. The longer view reveals otherwise. So just in case,
Kasen finds this blog in the future when he is reading about his crazy grama
Cece, I want him to know he once had the place of rule and reign that Jenna now
holds. Of course, we did not call it the Jenna Jab. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as I recall Kasen’s control of the world
extended into days with more vocabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He too used his arm. But it was a steady and firm directional gesture accompanied
by the word “hefway.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kasen would point
in a certain direction and say, “Hefway,” and off we would go. I took him
wherever “hefway” was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gramasylum
evolves and changes, and they may take turns, but the little people always
rule. It’s crazy, and I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>love it!</span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-88495673876567445822015-08-16T20:55:00.002-07:002015-08-17T07:19:52.970-07:00The Outer Reaches of Gramasylum<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGit5ESjiMUblKGqmSk_ibSz5psm-xWqrLgrYks8k5eWXnQGyIf94zVBC4qlswVWw8smwo6BlHlDOBLcud1xyGd4H7xozQ6GLVRNAR6rkRHYpFH0HXO6-kRm7pJL7N0MlVVVGGLJb4LRA/s1600/Sunscreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGit5ESjiMUblKGqmSk_ibSz5psm-xWqrLgrYks8k5eWXnQGyIf94zVBC4qlswVWw8smwo6BlHlDOBLcud1xyGd4H7xozQ6GLVRNAR6rkRHYpFH0HXO6-kRm7pJL7N0MlVVVGGLJb4LRA/s320/Sunscreen.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So when do you say, “No,” to
grandchildren? For those in Gramasylum,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>very seldom. I was tempted on this occasion. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Papa and I were at Laurel’s house
to take care of her while her new little sister arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the morning we headed out for a bagel, one
of LoLo’s favorites for breakfast. Papa got his usual—jalapena cheese. Laurel
and I got our favorite—cinnamon crunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This one was different. It was big and long! Holy cow! So Lo and I
shared one. We were half way into the bagel when Lo took some of the cream
cheese on her finger and started wiping it on my arm. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I asked her what she was
doing she answered quickly and confidently, “I’m putting sunscreen on<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What,” I asked incredulous?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t want you to get
sunburned, so I am putting sunscreen on your arms,” she insisted. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So what did I do? My reflex
response was to say, “Don’t do that!”</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But my heart overruled. I let
her put cream cheese on my arm and spread it around. I played along with her
pretending the cream cheese was sunscreen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately she was satisfied with
administering it on only part of the arm and did not go for my face or legs.
Not sure I am crazy enough to have allowed that. The whole time she applied the
“sunscreen” she had that adorable little grin on her face. The one that reveals
she knew just how crazy it was that she was doing this and even crazier that I
was letting her. But the delight on her face was worth all the sticky icky mess.
After all, what harm can a little cream cheese do, right?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why do I let her do these things? It is
Gramasylum where decorum and dignity are offset by love and child-like fun. I
had put sunscreen on her many times. Now it was her turn. At this age the
playing along with her imagination is usually not convenient but it is almost
always harmless. And, it is always lots of fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I mean what can a little cream cheese do to your arm? And playing along
with her crazy imagination communicates that I love her—that I will do almost
anything for her. Entering her childlike imaginative world let’s her know that
she matters to me and that I care enough about her to give up decorum and
dignity. Even though she does not know those words, she knows what they are.
Believe me! That is what the adorable little grin is all about. She knows no
adult in their right mind would allow a child to put cream cheese on their arm.
But she knows by now that her Grama Cece is not in her right mind. She is crazy
with oozing love for this little woman. This episode explored the outer reaches of Gramasylum, but it is likely the depths of craziness
has not yet been plumbed. </span><br />
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What is the craziest thing you ever allowed one of your grandchildren
to do to you? Share it in a comment below. Come on! Share the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>craziness!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-12588189073087141652015-08-09T18:28:00.001-07:002015-08-10T16:04:12.387-07:00Indoor Playland and Ice Cream Craziness<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIml5nwFPUMZjnr7D5rH6OBOkT5Iceu7z1yPy53TRHnJtabp4vSQ9AWZajXn0BfjgFagetoz7YSNZ9xFyQwdI3TLPb8xUmM4FIbVyOp2EJ9MsUFtzBa6XBNZkb8k0kdBpzZ5_mas8aIb4/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIml5nwFPUMZjnr7D5rH6OBOkT5Iceu7z1yPy53TRHnJtabp4vSQ9AWZajXn0BfjgFagetoz7YSNZ9xFyQwdI3TLPb8xUmM4FIbVyOp2EJ9MsUFtzBa6XBNZkb8k0kdBpzZ5_mas8aIb4/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="244" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Great anticipation grew as I planned a day with my Santa
Clarita grandchildren, Kasen, 4, and Jenna who will be one in less than two weeks.
Gramasylum was in full bloom as I intentionally drove after work in rush hour traffic
to get there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took me three hours to travel the 100 miles. Proving my youthfulness as I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>approach a
monumental birthday, I listened to a webinar to pass the time. Yes. I, Grama
Cece, listen to, and on occasion watch webinars for my own professional
development. I try not to watch them when I am driving. The challenge for me is
remembering how to download them on my IPhone.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I arrived in Santa Clarita the kiddos were in the front yard
waiting excitedly for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly
forgot the three hour drive. Kasen started jumping up and down and came
frightening close to the curb as I parked the car. Mom was close by monitoring
so all was well. Jenna was grinning ear to ear and doing her characteristic
point and jab when she wants something<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>or she wants to go somewhere. I call it the "Jenna Jab" and she gets
pretty much whatever she wants this way. After hugs and smooches all around we
settled in to the visit. Kasen immediately began planning the next day. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His excitement was displayed in his rapid fire
interrogation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Where are we going to go, Cece? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are we going to do? Can we go to a playground, Cece?
Can we get ice cream?” Kasen asked.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Of course! We can do it all,” I respond like any crazy Grama
would. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We will find an indoor playground if it is too hot (which
is all the time in Santa Clarita between May and September) and we will find
some ice cream,” I said with equal enthusiasm.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first inkling that I had gone deep into Gramasylum and wondered “what was I thinking” came at the
indoor playground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such venues being totally
new to me this crazy and enthusiastic Grama was totally unprepared. Everybody
who uses the playground needs socks. We were all sockless. But of course, they
sell socks! How much? Who cares! This is Gramasylum and we were not turning
back! They charge for babies over nine months? The Jenna Jab is already
underway. How much? Who cares! We were all going in! </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The indoor playground had four distinct play areas with lots
of kids running back and forth like they had all just been taken off <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sugar IV’s. Slides, and crawl tubes, an
enclosed kitchen and even a small enclosed trampoline created a playing frenzy of
kids. A wide range of ages and sizes comingled. The larger sized ones made the
trampoline situation a bit concerning to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the speed and frequency of passing children kept me vigilant in watching
Jenna who though a great jabber is new enough to walking to be vulnerable to
surrounding motion. The strong breeze of a passing larger child can knock her
down. It was while I was watching the traffic in order to keep Jenna safe that
I realized I had totally lost track of Kasen! And, a quick scan of the place
did not produce a sighting. Sheesh! We’d been in the matrix less than ten
minutes and I had already lost one child. I grabbed Jenna in spite of her
jabbing to go in another direction and frantically searched every nook and
cranny until I finally found Kasen in the corner of the kitchen. But still, there was a
moment when I returned to the “what was I thinking” part of my brain. Two small
children, indoors, and I can’t keep track of them for ten minutes? How did I do
this with three of my own in the outdoors?! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God must have been watching over us on a
fairly regular basis.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Several head to head encounters in the trampoline area, two
or three near misses with fly by children, and multiple toy grabbing incidents
needing intensive parental negotiations using language that I hardly recognized
let alone understood well enough to participate, I decided it was time for ice
cream. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The promise of ice cream lessened
the trauma of leaving such a fun filled place. I think.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We found the perfect place for ice cream. Real ice cream and
real inexpensive. Rite Aid. They scooped us up. A way too large cone for Kasen
and a small cup for Jenna. I knew I would get the leftovers. $3.58. What a deal
after the indoor playground that required a pint of blood from your wallet when
you go unprepared. It was after we were all scooped up that I realized there
was no place to sit indoors. This was not a restaurant or ice cream parlor. It was
a drug store. And it was now 100 degrees outside. Gramasylum strikes again.
What was I thinking? Cheap ice cream is no bargain with no place to sit and two
children, three and not quite one, with melting ice cream and 100 degrees
farenheit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we left the store the
cone was already dripping down the sides and the ice cream ready to fall off to
the floor. I begged the clerk for another cup to put the cone in to avert the
disaster. Then we headed outside. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fortunately we had a double stroller and I negotiated both
kiddos sitting in it to eat their ice cream. I scanned the area for someplace
to sit. Nothing. We walked around the corner and a pet store with a large bird swinging
in the window looked like it might work. There were carpeted kitty towers of
all shapes and sizes standing outside along the window wall. I found a kitty
tower about the right height with a platform about the right size of my
backside. I pulled the double stroller over into the shade and sat on the kitty tower. Kasen wanted his ice cream
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cone.</i> Of course. So I used the little
plastic spoon, almost breaking under the pressure, to cut off more than half
the ice cream now tipped upside down in a cup in order to make his cone a manageable size. I had to use </span><span style="font-family: Calibri; text-align: center;">my fingers, too. It was
then that I realized I forgot to get napkins when we bought the ice cream.
Diaper bag in the car, I had nothing. Oh yes. A little sippy cup of water is
better than nothing. I opened it and poured some on my sticky hands and dried
them in the wind. Finally, we were able to relax a little and enjoy the ice
cream. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; text-align: center;">This is Gramasylum at its very best. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I
did not spend any time wondering if I could navigate the indoor playground. I
did remember or imagine what a challenge it is to do ice cream in hot weather
with small children outdoors. I just love these kiddos and if Kasen says,</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Can we get ice cream?”</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The answer when you are in Gramasylum is, “Of course!” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And wherever and whatever Jenna <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>jabs, Cece will find a way to go and to do. This
is Gramasylum. Thinking is way down the list when crazy love takes over. And gratefully,
God is always watching over us. </span><br />
<br />
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</div>
<br />
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</div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-31696755743806132712015-07-31T19:59:00.000-07:002015-07-31T19:59:40.149-07:00Gramasylum's Darker Side<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B5ecJOQsrU3MRhr7gOGWL5FuafLxjt4CMABrP6_MpZmkwNxB87Ve0Qb-_gg-DZKi68gApFhElU1bAaFZjARi4waCfNboiV6sb70_MDRQ7g-uJCPac8NtBeC2UBM47o8DKshzzy96LeU/s1600/IMG_4680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B5ecJOQsrU3MRhr7gOGWL5FuafLxjt4CMABrP6_MpZmkwNxB87Ve0Qb-_gg-DZKi68gApFhElU1bAaFZjARi4waCfNboiV6sb70_MDRQ7g-uJCPac8NtBeC2UBM47o8DKshzzy96LeU/s320/IMG_4680.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok. Gramasylum isn’t <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>always oozing with giddy joy. There are times
when you seriously wonder, “What was I thinking?!” This was one of those times.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Laurel Ana, LoLo, had stayed overnight with us on several
occasions before. She loved coming to CeCe’s house and usually did not want to
leave. But now she was showing signs of attachment and separation anxiety of
late so I knew it might not be the same. She wanted to come this time, but she
wanted her mommie or daddy to come with her. Wasn’t gonna happen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mommie was away on business and daddy had
school. So LoLo was going to spend Sunday and Monday night with Cece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The complicating factor was that LoLo had also recently
acquired a new skill. Mommie and daddy don’t know where she learned it, but it
went like this. She would purse her lips, cross her arms tight, say, “I want
_____”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(fill in the blank), then raise
one leg bent at the knee, stomp it down hard, and just as the shoe hit the
floor she would say, “Now!” The timing was impeccable. The message was quite
clear. Whatever she wanted she was NOT waiting for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where she learned it I do not know either.
Let’s just say though that it looked like she had practiced a lot.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On this particular occasion the new skill showed up in the
middle of the night. Oh, she was priming for it earlier. She expressed the very normal desire to have her mommie before she went to bed, but it was a more
gentle demand with just a slight whimper. Then at 1 a.m. she woke up crying. The
crying turned to screaming—the kind of screaming that sounds like a child is being
tortured and someone should call the police. I was afraid my neighbors might!
No matter what I tried to do to console and comfort her it only escalated. So
there we were in the middle of the hall and it began. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. She screamed, “I want my mommie.” Then the dramatic pause, the leg
lifted bent at the knee and the foot came down with impeccable timing just as
she finished her demand, “Now!” This was repeated several times. I tried to
explain to her all the reasons she could not have her mommie now. This all
interspersed with the police-summoning type screams. I was beside myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is when I began to wonder. “What was I
thinking?” Crazy oozing love, insane devotion, barrels and barrels of fun with
Cece normally, but at 1 a.m. it did not make any difference.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had observed her parents helping her calm down on several
occasions before. So I tried that. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“LoLo,” I said calmly, “would you like me to help you calm
down?” </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She replied with her arms crossed, “ I want my Mommie to help
me calm down.” </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And you know how the drill goes. She raised her leg with
knee bent and brought it down as hard as she could and said, “Now!”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I realized at this point I had entered a darker corner of Gramasylum.
No amount of reasoning, no amount of love, no amount of fun and games was going to
deter this little woman from what she wanted. I knew that only two things would
bring an end to this real life nightmare. I could get in the car and drive an hour to take her
to daddy or I could let her scream and stamp herself to sleep. The signs of
fatigue were beginning to show up. I did not want to be stubborn just to win a
power struggle but my grama gut said that she could not keep this up much longer and that we were going to get through this
alive. Exhausted, and I might have to explain the screams to a police person if
they showed up at our door, but I made the decision to put my bet on her
falling asleep before I would be in jail. We would make it. And deep in my
heart I knew the oozing love, insane devotion, barrels of fun Gramasylum would
return. This little dark corner was not going to take over my Gramasylum haven.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I told her she could call her mommie and daddy in the
morning. Of course, she wanted to call them, “Now!” In faithful Gramasylum love
tons I explained that that was not going to happen in the middle of the night. But I assured her
that as soon as we slept a bit and woke up, we would call mommie and daddy.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She did eventually fall asleep. Sitting up on the love seat.
Whimpering, “mommie, now” with her little leg <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>twitching in memory of the foot stamping
routine of the night. Once the whimpering and the twitching ended, I gently
laid her down on the love seat and went and collapsed on the other couch where
I could keep an eye on her and be sure to be ready to make that phone call as
soon as she woke up. It was about 2:30 a.m. The entire incident lasted just
an hour and a half. I can’t remember if I slept after that. I just remember
wondering, “what was I thinking?!” Gramasylum residency is better at feeling
than thinking. So much love and affection for this child resides in me that I
will try just about anything. Once.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She woke up in the morning. No screaming. No foot stomping.
No demand for anything now. We called mommy and daddy. She was going to be all
right. But even Gramasylum has its limits. I told her father that he needed to
come and get her. I did not want to put her through another night like the last
one and I didn’t think I would be very reliable if I went another night with little
sleep and a lot of twitching. I said I would be glad to come to their house and
take care of her the next day but I did not want to risk another night like
this one we had just (barely) survived.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That was over a year ago. Since then, LoLo has stayed at
our house overnight again. It took awhile for me to regain my Gramasylum confidence for overnighters! Eventually she stayed for a whole weekend. No
pursing of lips, stamping of foot, or demands for anything “now.” I guess that
was a phase. And this time when daddy returned to get her, she did not want to
go home! Gramasylum returned full speed ahead. <br />
<br />
I am sure there will be other times
when I find myself doing something with my grandchildren, barely surviving, and
wondering , “What was I thinking?!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think I will just purse my lips, cross my arms, and say, “I want Gramasylum,”
and will raise my bended knee and stamp<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>my foot hard and say, “now!”<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1B5ecJOQsrU3MRhr7gOGWL5FuafLxjt4CMABrP6_MpZmkwNxB87Ve0Qb-_gg-DZKi68gApFhElU1bAaFZjARi4waCfNboiV6sb70_MDRQ7g-uJCPac8NtBeC2UBM47o8DKshzzy96LeU/s1600/IMG_4680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
</span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-80085180158178037582015-07-18T21:03:00.000-07:002015-07-18T21:15:05.498-07:00Signs of Residency in Gramasyulm<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It actually takes two signs simultaneously. When a son-in-law
looks at you and just shakes his head and at the same time a grandchild is
laughing and squealing with glee, you probably have entered Gramasylum. Of
course, in my case my residency is confirmed by the fact that my son-in-law
usually says something like, “I am afraid he (my grandson) does not have a
chance. He will turn out to be crazy like you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His fear does have some legitimacy. My daughter, the child's mother, shows
some evidence of the genetic marker. My son-in-law is doubly concerned.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So what are some of the signs? Here are just some of the
more obvious ones.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After working and primping your whole life to be
gorgeous you begin making hideous faces and dressing in strange costumes or allowing them to "decorate you" in
order to see their smiles and hear their giggles. Beauty and dignity have
nothing on pleasing these kids.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1ltgYYwdCWBV1csGmA2BcX1EnlSjKas7iUL0XsSOGFuwOSCm9P0wt8JfEkxwCKxGyzJ7AU3LkK-1yrUUHOIb902ypsmCOHWIUtu8j-OXgy-CNYZhCFQflytMT-20bUPKKSgcmVyvaRw/s1600/IMG_4725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1ltgYYwdCWBV1csGmA2BcX1EnlSjKas7iUL0XsSOGFuwOSCm9P0wt8JfEkxwCKxGyzJ7AU3LkK-1yrUUHOIb902ypsmCOHWIUtu8j-OXgy-CNYZhCFQflytMT-20bUPKKSgcmVyvaRw/s320/IMG_4725.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you have spent half of your life
parenting--getting up regularly and often at night to take care of children
when they are young and then getting up regularly and often at night wondering
where your children are when they are older—when you can finally sleep, you
begin getting up very early in the morning in order to let your now grown
children that kept you up half your life, sleep. This is certifiably crazy!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xvWMVwHRmBkO8Dq3xkhxG_y4mErUK79Mn91-fUG721chZ6xdv3Pwg9B4hoVUhiAdiXx56PkP1-Cms0t5ugM1e96Zl9Lmgkyq1HRi24yC-GF5-NTRYR91tRU0Zzv2up9yoYWmmhMQ25c/s1600/IMG_8608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xvWMVwHRmBkO8Dq3xkhxG_y4mErUK79Mn91-fUG721chZ6xdv3Pwg9B4hoVUhiAdiXx56PkP1-Cms0t5ugM1e96Zl9Lmgkyq1HRi24yC-GF5-NTRYR91tRU0Zzv2up9yoYWmmhMQ25c/s320/IMG_8608.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you work hard six days a week and have only
one day off and you take that one day and get up at 4:30 a.m. in order to drive
two hours to take care of a small child for nine hours only to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>get back in the car and drive two hours (maybe
three in bad traffic) back home. This is the definition of insanity.</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And finally, the dead ringer—when they have been
at your house for a day or two or three and your house looks like a hurricane
went through, you have been up and down off the floor so much and carried and
swung and frolicked so far that every muscle in your body is aching, you are
close to falling asleep walking toward the bedroom, and yet, you are on the
verge of tears because they are gone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you have ever done or experienced even one of these crazy
things, you are cordially invited to celebrate with me as a honorable member of
Gramasylum. Crazy gramas unite! </span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What have you done
that is a sign of your residency in Gramasylum. Share below with pictures!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-75184307058769492332015-07-13T15:04:00.000-07:002015-07-13T18:26:33.619-07:00When They Call Your Name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHo4IjHLpYPOad5w-pQg_vYjUbiK1akmKRQtSF0teyKTOD9ClA4wPGccqF2y3sVzJKT6oHiHZeb9vQuDg5bG8Il1bsEKk2zL8usVZC5lpfvlpkt5uuw3snAcHtBXAiKgZhVI4azL1kefM/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHo4IjHLpYPOad5w-pQg_vYjUbiK1akmKRQtSF0teyKTOD9ClA4wPGccqF2y3sVzJKT6oHiHZeb9vQuDg5bG8Il1bsEKk2zL8usVZC5lpfvlpkt5uuw3snAcHtBXAiKgZhVI4azL1kefM/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can still remember the day. I recorded it in the journal I kept
for her first two years of life. She called my name. Cece. It is not possible
to describe the feelings of that moment. All the months of playing with her.
All the times I cared for her. All the diapers changed, all the songs sung, the
books read, and the stories told, the tears wiped away, the crying soothed, the
boo boos kissed, and the tantrums mercifully waited out. Hearing her say my
name made it all a drop in the bucket. She knew my name and she called me! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
chose the name because it is easy to say. I thought she might learn it more
quickly and might even say it accidently! But when she called my name for the first time it was no accident.
"Sheshe," she said. That's how she pronounced it at first. And there was
no mistaking it was for me. She came running down the hall and passed several
other significant adults on the way. She was looking for me!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Of course "mama" came first. And "dada"
followed closely after that. But I do believe it is on record that Cece came
next. Ok. I worked on it a little bit. Ok. I worked on it a lot. I spent a
great deal of time with her in her first
two years of life and am grateful that her parents allowed it, even encouraged
it. As crazy as I am they facilitated this most amazing relationship of their
firstborn with her crazy grama. I said my name to her as often as I could. And
family members conspired with me. They called me Cece too when she was around. When she called </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Sheshe" anything that followed it came into being. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Sheshe, up." And up she would go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Sheshe, come!"
And I would go anywhere she wanted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Later, now with more sophisticated language, it is more complex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Cece, can I have a
waffle?" asks Lolo. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Of course you can have a waffle,” I reply. It's 8
p.m. but who said waffles are only for breakfast? And we’re talking homemade
waffles, not Eggos!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Cece, can we go swimming?" Lolo begs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yes, let’s go!”
I respond. Long past my prime in swimwear, do I care? Not warm enough to need
to cool off, does it matter? </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">She calls my name and I don a grandma-ish suit and off we go to
the pool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Cece, will you carry me?" she asks reaching for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even
when there are other adults, younger, more capable, less wracked with pain, I
reply, “Of course I will carry you, Lolo!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">And when she disqualified others the requests are especially
delicious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her mommie says, "Lolo, do you want me to carry you?" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">She replies, "No, I want Cece to carry me." Bam!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Lolo, do you want me to read you a book before bedtime or do you
want Cece to read you a book?” her mommie asks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lolo declares, “I want Cece to read me a book.” Oh yeah!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">No amount of pain or fatigue is going to stop a love-crazy grama
from stepping up and doing the job! Or, in this case, laying down on the floor and
likely needing help to get up in order to do the job!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is Gramasylum. It is certifiable craziness because no one in
their right mind (and decrepit body) would do these things if it were not for
absolutly crazy love. And the craziness only intensifies when you have two of
these little people calling your name to do things not thought possible at your
age and stage of life. Crazy as I am, I anxiously await grandchild number three
calling my name. Jenna is only 10 months and just started saying mama and dada.
But I am quite confident that Cece, Sheshe, or some other version of it is not
far behind. And when she calls my name, I will be ready. Waffle? Swim? Carry?
All three? I will carry her to the pool eating a waffle at midnight if she
calls my name. It's Gramasylum and I love living here!</span><i><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">What is your grama name? And what
is your best memory of a grandchild calling your name? Leave your story below.</span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-6739174451151461292015-07-10T14:50:00.000-07:002015-07-10T14:50:25.614-07:00Crazy Oozing Love
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8liiUOJBt0CXvcFs44m-v5f8mpvYrorHflLEME1jx8m0C-xnH-MeT-_IItLlWU-GanSkEa5phez597Wf2I0EZ0K7kNUJkTMb7Z9ZuUYNcYcAm67ArRGfNNSEgFvzo0WtdZFmSmG9eH9s/s1600/IMG_7458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8liiUOJBt0CXvcFs44m-v5f8mpvYrorHflLEME1jx8m0C-xnH-MeT-_IItLlWU-GanSkEa5phez597Wf2I0EZ0K7kNUJkTMb7Z9ZuUYNcYcAm67ArRGfNNSEgFvzo0WtdZFmSmG9eH9s/s320/IMG_7458.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A crazy grama should have known better. I thought there was
no way that I could loved another child as much as LoLo. There was just no way.
Wherever we were, no matter how many people were around we were connected. We
had a thing for each other. And she was the one I had waited for nine years,
after all. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, my heart was beyond description
fond! And it wasn’t just me. My daughter wondered too. She was afraid that no
future child of hers could find space in my Lo Lo crazy heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then came Kasen. Three days short of one year after
Laurel Ana, LoLo, was born I was laying on the hospital floor waiting for
Kasen. Yes. I was literally lying on the tile floor in the waiting room at the
hospital. I had been there all night. I should have known crazy love would kick
in. What fifty- something respectable woman would lay on the floor using her
purse as a pillow--full of very hard objects, I might add--all night. People
kept saying, “Go home. Get some sleep.” My mind sort of understood the
suggestion but there was no way my crazy heart was going anywhere. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally realizing I was going nowhere, a very kind nursing
assistant who apparently had a meter on his belt that detected craziness, came
into the waiting room and gave me a blanket for the floor and a blanket to roll
up for a pillow. It was about 4:30 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kyle, Kasen’s daddy kept coming into the room to report
progress, but it would be two and a half more hours before Kyle came in the
waiting room with the words my crazy heart was waiting for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s here! Kasen Elijah Absten had arrived!
Though my hips were screaming <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>profanities and my <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>aged muscles had atrophied about midnight, I
was up off that floor in a nanosecond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Kyle must have seen the crazed look in my eye and tried to calm me down.
It would be awhile before I could see him, he said. Right. A crazy woman on the
floor all night waiting and he was suggesting she would have to wait awhile
longer? Who was crazy now?!</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fast forward. I should have known better. Crazy as I am I
should have figured love would come crazy wide and crazy deep. I am as crazy
wildly gah-gah over Kasen<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as I was and
am for Lo Lo. Crazy, I know. But Kasen and I have a thing for each other. When
all three of us are together it gets really crazy sharing a crazy Grama, but we
are figuring it out. Because the best part of being so crazy is that Lo and
Kaso (we call him Kaso Grande) love my craziness. What others (their parents and my husband) move away from
they beg for! </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And last August a third one showed up. This time I had no
doubts. More about Jenna later. Crazy as I am I knew crazy love would go wider and deeper. After
waiting nine years I guess the craziness was festering inside. Now it oozes
everywhere. Good thing. As I sit here reflecting on my crazy love for these
three grandchildren, another one is knocking at my daughter-in-law’s birthing
door. Yup. LoLo has a sister arriving any day. Colette—CoCo is about to enter
Gramasylum. The craziness gets better and better!</span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-74432499073779592882015-07-07T16:50:00.000-07:002015-07-07T16:50:16.005-07:00Crazy Grama LoveMy dad loved babies. I inherited his genes. I have always loved babies. I had three of my own. They are all grown now and all are married. I watched other friends line their couches with grandchildren. Each year their Christmas pictures would have a new little person propped up by another child and a pillow or two. Our Christmas letters had grown ups and landscapes. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I waited nine years for our first grandchild. Laurel Ana Blankman (Lo Lo) was born on this very day four years ago. She was worth waiting for. I wrote her a little book. You can do that now with online publishers like Shutterfly. The book title was <i>I Waited For You So Long</i>. I even illustrated it with pictures of me waiting.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTdFP37J4ML7anGN_E9Z0M9N7mviHwmwD2jftdD5Eo923Pf1kDP4-3HJK98cLz0hiUBNwz5zgFkxAl_wdlzBWdgQlAtGNMHekhwB_gjuCsJwxmSmS6nCE8m5kU3YU9xnfjdFi-V67N7U/s1600/Waiting+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTdFP37J4ML7anGN_E9Z0M9N7mviHwmwD2jftdD5Eo923Pf1kDP4-3HJK98cLz0hiUBNwz5zgFkxAl_wdlzBWdgQlAtGNMHekhwB_gjuCsJwxmSmS6nCE8m5kU3YU9xnfjdFi-V67N7U/s320/Waiting+5.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIzS97nPVOF80QmLBXzy4z91jbyLclhMqf7-HPi4kSCDktQwjn6gvKrnORTCUWwTTqqNoKaNlU6wU0WG8HMsZscyq1Wz2AtpB4YzXINudnoj6pWRGvJbGbksTot8s4dVImsdn5YifV7g/s1600/Waiting+9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIzS97nPVOF80QmLBXzy4z91jbyLclhMqf7-HPi4kSCDktQwjn6gvKrnORTCUWwTTqqNoKaNlU6wU0WG8HMsZscyq1Wz2AtpB4YzXINudnoj6pWRGvJbGbksTot8s4dVImsdn5YifV7g/s320/Waiting+9.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I am crazy about this little person. I would often take my day off (Fridays) and go to her house very early in the morning and take care of her all day. And her parents are very good at sharing. They visit us a lot. I do lots of crazy things for her. I get up very early and let her mom and dad sleep. I lay on the floor reading books and telling stories until I need help getting up. I send her pictures of myself making faces and singing songs, neither of which are flattering. Today on her birthday I sent her a video of me singing Happy Birthday to her in Spanish! My singing is bad and my Spanish is worse! And now with the internet who knows where this might show up?! I fill my house with stuff for her that totally destroys any semblance of order or decor. </div>
<div>
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<div>
In short, I am crazy. Insane. Certifiable 5150. In days gone by I would be a clear candidate for an insane asylum. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I prefer to think of it as a place for love crazy gramas. Gramas who are full of crazy love for their grand babies. Let's call it Gramasylum. I want to create such a place for others like me.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I now have three grandchildren and am waiting for a call any moment that the fourth is on the way. My couch runneth over! My Christmas letters have been saved from landscape emptiness! I am crazier than ever! There are lots of you out there. I know. And we need to band together so that others cannot make us shrink back one iota from our craziness. Join me!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI850znPabLwPPW0J9CBc8DzcOtOdHHFfqCJeOZl5MtJHN9rvs-X4Ukavr8W5GQCpGU6pGvdzOKXXzS3jhrVZOnDCH0l5X38iL40003gYpn55ShZlSYjPf-ugtqmAzlaSlD5KrZFhi30U/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI850znPabLwPPW0J9CBc8DzcOtOdHHFfqCJeOZl5MtJHN9rvs-X4Ukavr8W5GQCpGU6pGvdzOKXXzS3jhrVZOnDCH0l5X38iL40003gYpn55ShZlSYjPf-ugtqmAzlaSlD5KrZFhi30U/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Lo Lo has inherited a bit of the craziness, too.</div>
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<div>
<i>What is the craziest thing you have ever done for one of your grandchildren? Leave a snapshop of your craziness in a comment for the rest of us crazies to enjoy! </i></div>
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Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-70837462541426788592014-08-17T18:02:00.000-07:002014-08-17T18:02:37.701-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Have you ever had this experience? You are listening to someone and are getting excited because what the person is saying is so wonderful and resonates with you so much, and you are so happy to be hearing what is happening in this person’s life. And then it happens. Without taking a breath the person says something else that for them is comparable, similar, along the same lines, but for you it is diametrically opposed to what they were saying before. I had this experience, in fact, three of these in the last week.<br />
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When this happens, although I do not usually say it out loud, inside I am thinking, Wait. What did you just say? Could I have heard that correctly? And because I do not have a poker face, I am quite sure the speakers knew instantly that they had said something that did not sit right with me. (Or that I had a sudden stab of pain somewhere in my body.) The grimace was dramatic, I am sure. In the most extreme instances, and in my least Christlike moments, I want to shout, “Are you kidding me?! What kind of an idiot would say those two things together?”<br />
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I was going to just let this go. I have not blogged for over a year and, frankly, I have some other things to do. But I read something today in the Jesus Creed blog that was such a glaring example of this vocal dissonance, and in this case, unlike my particular experience, it has staggering implication for the human race. In Jesus Creed titled “Other Than the Name,” Scot McKnight posts a link to a Washington Post story about a small French town named La Mort aux Juifs, which means “Death to Jews.” It has had this name for centuries. Apparently, on at least two other occasions people have tried to appeal to the local ruling council to change the name, to no avail. I don’t know what the response to those attempts were. But the response this time is blatant in its incongruity, its dissonance. How a living, breathing, caring human being could say this in a few sentences is incomprehensible to me. According to deputy mayor of Courtemaux, which has jurisdiction over the hamlet,<br />
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Presse.”Why change a name that goes back to the Middle Ages or even further? We</div>
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should respect these old names. . . . No one has anything against the Jews, of course.”</div>
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No one has anything against the Jews, of course. Nevertheless, the town’s name is Death to Jews. Am I missing something here? Did anyone who heard this choke? Was there an audible gasp from anyone listening? You can read more about it on McKnight’s blog and in the article linked there. (See <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2014/08/14/other-than-the-name">www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2014/08/14/other-than-the-name</a>.)<br />
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My reason for blogging about this is not to further demonize this deputy mayor, although I confess there is part of me that wants to. The experiences I had last week and the experience of reading this blog, once I recovered from the immediate asphyxia, brought me to a place of self-examination. I wonder if I ever say things so blatantly incongruent. What are the beliefs, convictions, preferences, for God’s sake, that I am totally blind to in their incongruity with other things I claim to believe and claim to be? Blind spots. I am quite certain they exist and even more certain that I am totally unaware of what they are. This is, after all, the definition of a blind spot, and the only explanation for this human phenomena.<br />
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Though we strive to have the mind of Christ, our minds are still broken. And there are places where our minds—our hearts—and experiences are so entangled that even extreme brokenness is held together by the tangled mess of disparate thoughts and actions. Only another human from a very different place can hear the dissonance and see the incongruity. And what other human being will speak the truth to me? Only someone who loves me enough to not care whether I like them or not. Only someone who cares more about what God wants to do in me than about what he or she doesn’t want to do to me.<br />
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For me these encounters have heightened my awareness of the need to have people in my life who will say to me, while gasping for air, and trying not to choke, “What did you just say?” And then will have the time and patience to help me untangle the mess of thoughts and actions that have so blinded me. And if I have said anything in this blog that comes close to dissonance, please respond with, “Do you realize what you just said?” I am hoping to hear from someone.Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-65350401249072484472014-02-19T08:24:00.000-08:002014-03-26T14:33:48.317-07:00Malawi Adventure: Reflections in Flight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">From Lilongwe to Blantyr, Blantyr to Addis Ababa, Addis Ababa, to Rome, Rome to Washington DC, and now on the last leg of the return home from two weeks in Africa I will have had 35 hours (give or take a few from sleeping lightly a couple of times) to reflect on my time with Louise Laubscher and the FTS staff and volunteers. It will take a very long time to process all that I saw and did and learned while with them. But there are four things that were pretty immediately striking in my experience when I first arrived in Malawi and these things were not at all diminished over the time I was there.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">First, their enthusiasm and commitment for spiritual growth. Many of these people grew up in Christian homes and have been taught and studied the bible for a very long time and now are teaching the bible. Yet, day after day, night after night they sat on the edge of their seats, faces intent on receiving some new word from the Lord. The stories of Jesus and the stories Jesus told that we studied captivated them. I will never forget the face of Aubrey, one of the field workers for FTS. What a delight to teach! He was always leaning forward in his chair with his face lit up like a neon sign and a smile even brighter. And as I mentioned in a earlier blog, their attendance never wained. Nine days and five nights and the attendance held up the whole time and actually increased. These are disciples of Christ who really hunger for more of the master.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Second, they were immediately willing and eager to talk about how these biblical principles applied to their personal and their ministry life. I was a stranger to them. They knew very little about me. And yet there was virtually no waiting time to get warmed up for serious discussion. They dove right in! They were definitely not content to just gain more knowledge about the bible or about Christ. From the very first day with great humility and vulnerability they spoke in the large group and in small groups about the challenges they face in being faithful to Christ and his teachings. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Third, their praise in song is outstanding. Without any instruments, without any hymnals or song books, or projection screen they sang song after song after song. Every song in more than four part harmony. Every song responsively with one person leading the others. Every song sung with robust enthusiasm. It was as if everyone of them were trained in choral music. And the icing on the cake? They move and dance to the music, their faces filled with the joy of the Lord. It was as if they really were caught up in singing praises to a King they love and adore. I wanted to teach them a song in English. Two things prevented me. My voice is not a song-leading voice! And even though I was willing to give it a try, I realized that all the songs I knew well enough to try and teach them required significant instrumental support! Except for two songs I sing to my granddaughter and grandson when I am putting them to sleep at night I could not sing a single song acapella! </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">And, finally, they pray almost as enthusiastically and energetically as they sing. They pray together out loud and I found myself caught up in it. Though you cannot really hear any one person praying or hear what they are praying, you can hear the wide range of emotion that accompanies their prayers--some laments, some praise, some petitions--but all together the praying ebbs and flows until it slowly quiets down and one person closes. It is as if everyone of them were trained in choral praying! The icing on the cake in this? Every time before I stood up to teach they prayed for me. And they prayed that they would hear God's word to them through me. Their prayers helped me overcome my feelings of inadequacy and gave me confidence in God's ability to use whatever I offered.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Their eagerness to learn and grow, they humility and vulnerability, their singing and their praying touched me deeply. I have been challenged to the core to follow their example as disciples of Jesus. In March at San Clemente Presbyterian Church we will be launching "Being Grounded," Phase 2 of our discipleship initiative called "Plugged In." Starting with 18-24 people, the goal of the experience called "Groundings" will be to equip every member and friend at SCPC in being disciples who live like Jesus at home, at work, in school, and wherever they go. My preparation to lead this has been significantly shaped by my time in Malawi. I have a desire to know and serve Christ and his kingdom more than ever before. I can only hope and pray to inspire others who will be participating in the new discipleship experience with me as deeply as the brothers and sisters in Malawi have inspired me. </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" />Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-30227493892455991012014-02-16T09:42:00.000-08:002014-03-26T14:26:14.841-07:00Malawi Adventure: The End is the Beginning<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
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Nine days of discipleship and marriage and parenting instruction and five of those days the classes continued in the evening. The training included three presenters, a lot of small group discussion and individual application time. The staff and volunteers of Fishers, Trainers and Senders (FTS) gave an incredible amount of their time and energy to being trained. In addition, some of the full time staff spent 2-3 hours each day picking up and dropping off volunteers and staff so they could attend the training. Others, took public transport for hours and then were hosted in the homes of staff who live locally. Still others who live closer walked or took public transport every day. Every day, several times a day they gave thanks for the opportunity to attend such training saying that so many other people would love to be able to attend. Volunteers provided lunch and dinner most days. Other volunteers cared for the children of staff and volunteers. The most amazing thing? Unlike in the United States, the attendance did not drop off over the nine days. The final day had the highest attendance of all! One woman who heard about the training took a bus for five hours to attend the final day! These people were very committed and very eager to learn. </div>
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My teaching assignment was primarily discipleship. When I came I told them it was going to be like boot camp. They were actually enthusiastic about being challenged to grow in their faith and ministry capacity. I also told them that I would be learning along with them. I had never been to Malawi or even Africa before. Though I had corresponded with Louise, the Founder and Director of FTS, and been tutored by Sheryl France-Moran and two others who have been to Malawi, I was still significantly lacking in understanding of how life and ministry work here. Throughout the training I had to stop often and ask questions and learn before I could proceed. The illustrations, examples, and even images that I had used in the past simply would not work in this context. And though almost all of those attending spoke English well, there was still considerable need to clarify meaning of words and give them time to translate in their own language to ensure understanding. They were so patient concerning this challenge and in the process I learned some Chichewa. All this handicap in their teacher and they never once showed any sign of frustration or boredom. They were like sponges and continually responded and interacted to the teaching with great intensity. I was humbled and deeply grateful for the privilege of teaching these people.</div>
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The only reason this teaching assignment had any potential for fruitfulness is because of God's word. The truths hidden in it are not limited to a particular culture or language. God's word is truth across time--over 4000 years since it was first recorded--and God's truth is applicable to every tribe and nation. The important and difficult task for me was to get down to the very basic meaning of God's word so that these friends in Lilongwe could prayerfully and carefully consider what it meant for their lives and their ministry. I knew that this exercise--getting to the basic meaning of the texts--would be as instructive for me as it would be for those I was teaching. It forced me to re-examine every interpretation to try and eliminate anything that was culturally bound. It was so amazing to see how God's word indeed does speak powerfully to very different cultures. We used the teaching of Jesus as texts and we were often in awe of the penetrating power of these texts for such disparate contexts. </div>
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Equally as amazing was to see how much we have in common as people trying to be disciples even though our cultures are so different. Like us the Malawi believers are tempted to look disparagingly at people who are on the margins of their society instead of loving them like Jesus did. I was especially surprised to find out that some churches in Malawi are very uncooperative with other churches and reluctant to partner for ministry to the communities they are trying to reach with the Gospel. Like us they get into a mindset of competition rather than cooperation. And we are the same in our tendency to get so absorbed in doing ministry we neglect our own spiritual growth. In this, especially we identified over and over again that we are the same. Being a disciple of Christ requires daily attention to making sure we are not just going through the motions and that we stay attentive to and dependent on the Spirit of God. He does not only want our service. He wants us. In this we are all the same and God's word speaks powerfully no matter the culture or language.</div>
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Tomorrow I start the 36 hour journey back to San Clemente. The discipleship training in Malawi has come to an end. But the adventure has just begun. Our closing exercise for boot camp was a prayer of commissioning sending each of us back to the place God has called us to. In discipleship training every end is a new beginning. How grateful to God I am for this Malawi adventure and the training I have received.</div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-30107874727369596552014-02-13T05:42:00.003-08:002014-02-19T08:26:33.230-08:00Malawi Adventure: Jesus the Host<div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /><br />A Malawian man told me his story. His mother died at the age of 10. His father died at the age of 14 and he was on his own. He had 7 brothers and sisters. By the time he was 18, four of them had died. Only he and two others remained. This young man's life was filled with pain and loss and he was at risk. Yet, here he is, now a married man in mid 30's in full time ministry and has taken in more children than he can count and currently is paying school fees for several children. Almost every person in Malawi has taken in multiple children and cared for them. Many of them are providing school fees for younger brothers or sisters even though they struggle to provide for their own children. This is a result of their extended family culture. What we call cousins, they call sisters and brothers. It is also a result of the ravages of extreme poverty and AIDS/HIV which has left many parents unable to care for their children and thousands of children orphans. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />So I am in Malawi and one of my lessons is on hospitality. What am I going to do? How can I teach these people anything about hospitality?! It is only God's Word that is truth for all generations, nations that can teach us together about a kind of hospitality that can be practiced anywhere in the world. If our view of hospitality is only possible in San Clemente but cannot be practiced in Malawi, it is not the truth and it is not the biblical view of hospitality. Teaching in Malawi I have learned also. What we discovered together from our study of Zacchaeus about hospitality applies to us wherever we live and whatever we have. It is the hospitality of Christ that prevented this young man from becoming a fearful, angry, and lost orphan. The presence and love of Christ transformed him. At the very core of hospitality is <i><b>being with</b></i> and <i><b>accepting</b></i> others.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Biblical hospitality, being with and accepting people, is not location specific. Wherever we are Jesus is the host. It is his grace and mercy that is with us and accepts us--makes us part of his family and given us all that we have. He owns all of creation, and because He lives in us by his Spirit when we invite people wherever we invite them Jesus is the real host. Zacchaeus invited Jesus to his home but it was Jesus who was the host offering Zacchaeus much more than Zacchaeus offered Jesus. Whether we invited people into our home or whether we enter the home of another, or whether we meet somewhere else, the presence of Christ hosts us. It is Jesus who comes to us and because of this hospitality can be practiced anywhere. Our wealth or poverty does not determine the quality of our hospitality. The presence and power of Christ brings more to us than anything we can provide. When we allow that presence and power to show through our lives we provide hospitable space where others can experience being with Jesus and seeing his gracious accepting love.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Biblical hospitality transforms guests. After being with Jesus and experiencing his gracious acceptance, Zacchaeus was a changed man. He could not remain the same. He who had been a cheat, became honest. He who was a thief became generous. He who was lost was saved. When we offer only our own resources people might be delighted but they will not be changed. But when we offer whatever we have as evidence of Christ's presence and loving acceptance they can be transformed by encountering the present and powerful Christ.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And let's not forget that Zacchaeus was an unlikely character to be transformed. The whole community knew he was a sinner. His job as chief tax collector meant everyone knew he was a thief. They grumbled when Jesus decided to go to his house because his reputation was well known. The least likely guest in our eyes just may be the one most likely to be transformed. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is biblical hospitality that can be practiced in Malawi or in San Clemente. We open our homes whatever they are like, we enter others whatever they are like, or with biblical hospitality we can create a third space to meet people. In all three cases, Jesus is the host who by his presence provides more than we could ever provide and when we allow others to see him through us, his presence, his acceptance--love--can transform those we invite and even those who invite us. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sent from my iPad</span></div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-52369809493049578982014-02-10T02:56:00.001-08:002014-02-19T08:26:20.564-08:00Malawi Adventure: The Bad Guys are Us<div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">
When the expert in the law, the lawyer, came to Jesus in Luke 10 the text says clearly that he came to test Jesus--possibly trap him. Though he asks a question that is close to the heart of Jesus--how does a person obtain eternal life--Jesus does not give him the quick answer. Jesus responds with a question--what does the law say? Being an expert in the law this was easy street. Every lawyer knew that the first commandment was the greatest--to love The Lord God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. And, the expert smarty-pants, figured he would do Jesus one better. He gave him the second commandment also--to love your neighbor as yourself. With his own arrogance he has taken the bait. The one being tested now is not Jesus! Jesus responds that he has answered correctly and then sets the hook--do this (love God with everything and your neighbor as yourself) and you will live.</div>
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Ok. Now the lawyer has a problem. Jesus has turned the tables and now it is the lawyer who is being tested. His belief system said that if he kept all the law he would inherit eternal life. His own answer now has raised an important question if he is to keep all the law--who is the neighbor that he is to love, to "do this" with. As the text says, he really is not interested in the question. He already thinks he has eternal life. He started out testing Jesus and now by Jesus' testing he has been moved to a place to need to justify himself. After all, it is very hard to determine just who your neighbor is. So he asks, who is my neighbor?</div>
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Again, Jesus does not answer the question with a quick answer. He decides not to argue law with this lawyer but to tell him a story. Instead of getting to the destination immediately--the answer to the question--Jesus takes his hand and walks him through some everyday life that will allow him to not only <i style="font-weight: bold;">know </i>the answer but the chance to experience it so he might actually gain eternal life, not just know how to. Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan--sort of the opposite kind of person from this expert in the law of Israel. And in the story, an unnamed man beaten and close to death is the central figure--the neighbor. And, in the story a priest and a Levite do not treat him like a neighbor. It is the Samaritan, the despised and unclean half-breed, who acts neighborly toward the beaten and dying man. This is a slam-dunk for Jesus. All he has to do is reel him in. If he says he does not know the answer he is admitting his own lack of understanding the law. As soon as he identifies the Samaritan as the who who acts like a neighbor he has admitted a great contradiction to his own understanding of the law. How can a person who does not know the law and who by their very way of life violates much of the law, how can they obtain eternal life? And the even more serious implication, the one who knows the law, indeed is an expert in the law (a priest, a Levite, a lawyer) could walk away from this without eternal life!</div>
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This text in Luke is worth examining in detail for the powerful example of how to teach. But that will be another blog sometime in the future--maybe. Today studying this with my Malawian friends we came to realize that in this story the "bad guy" is us! All of us believers, and all of us working in ministry in some way or another, we know the Bible a lot better than the average person. With it we are pointing people to eternal life. In our context WE are the experts! Is it possible that we are as blind as the lawyer to the fact that our very expertise is what is in the way? Could our expert knowledge of the bible, the right way of doing ministry, the way we have learned it, the way we know it and are experts in it be getting in the way of living it? The Priest and the Levite did not pass the test. The despised and unclean Samaritan did. </div>
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In our day and time, for those of us at San Clemente and for those in Lilongwe, the great risk of being "experts" is that we may be as blind as this lawyer was. Even giving the lawyer the benefit of the doubt and saying that he really believed he was doing what was right by being concerned about keeping all the laws only makes our predicament the more serious. Often our justification for what we do or don't do is based on some tradition or custom of "how things should be" or "being right." And in the process we may be avoiding and walking right by people or circumstances that are opportunities to "do this"--love God and neighbor. </div>
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As we worked through the passage together, and came to this conclusion, you could feel it in the room--the "bad guy" in the story is us. The one trying to test Jesus, and to self-justify is us! I am hoping that the willingness of my Malawian friends to explore and expose this in their part of the world will help me do the same in mine. Boot camp continues and I am sweating a lot more.</div>
Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-426947647574497879.post-1683972521122225892014-02-08T13:18:00.000-08:002014-02-19T08:24:58.231-08:00Malawi Adventure: They Drive on the Wrong Side of the RoadThe steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car. And, Oh my, they drive on the wrong side of thle road! They speak Chichewa. Thank goodness, they also speak English! The men (yes, the men!) are very animated when they sing. They sing loud and clap and dance and laugh. They skip and hop and pump their arms. (Men in the United States do this particular gesture--arm pumping--but usually for <i><b>very</b></i> different reasons.) Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore!<br />
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Such are some of the most obvious differences I have encountered here in Lilongwe, Malawi. But capturing my attention far more are the ways that we are the same. Parents are tired in Malawi just like in the United States. They are tired from lack of sleep but they are also tired from the serious challenges of being a mom or a dad. Teachers in Malawi have enormous jobs because they not only teach, they also parent, and counsel, and care for students whose home lives are far from nurturing. People are hungry for meaning and significance in their lives beyond a job well done. They long to make a difference in the lives of others and they struggle with how to do this when the circumstances are very serious and very complicated. My very limited and new understanding is that, at least proportionately, the complexity of the struggle of the people of Malawi is far greater than where I come from. And though with much less resources they are working hard to make a difference.<br />
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The Malawians I am coming to know who are in full time ministry struggle as I do to balance work and home. Just like me, they have a heart to train others to multiply the fruit of the work. But it is sometimes a challenge to find others who have the desire and, usually more frequently, the time to be trained. FTS like San Clemente Pres is working to reach out and stretch the impact of their ministry and are not satisfied with being a holy huddle. FTS is definitely a community for the community! And, most amazing of all, because it confirms why God's wise and wonderful and humorous plan has me here, the staff and volunteers of FTS are at a place where they want to go deeper. They want to grow in their love and trust of God so that they are able to live every day more faithfully what they are teaching and preaching and reaching out to others with. They want fresh hope in order to offer real hope to others. They do not want to rest on what they have done in the past or what they are currently doing very well. They want to be grounded deeper spiritually in order to go out faithfully wider. All these things we have in common.<br />
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Continents apart, times zones away I am seeing with my own eyes that God is indeed at work powerfully in every place doing the same thing he does in every place--bringing his kingdom to earth one person at a time, one act of love at a time, one word of hope at a time, one generous gift at a time. I am quite sure that after seeing what I have seen here in Lilongwe, I will be better equipped to see what I need to see in San Clemente. The stark differences as well as the clear commonalities are improving my vision. Louise drives on the wrong side of the road and the Lord gets her safely where she is going anyway! What an amazing God we serve!Candiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05652343174140180888noreply@blogger.com0