Quiet and tranquil

First of all, I ask that supplications, prayers,
petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone,
for kings and for all in authority,
that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life
in all devotion and dignity. 
This is good and pleasing to God our saviour,
who wills everyone to be saved
and to come to knowledge of the truth.
1 Tim 2: 1-8

That we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity.  St. Paul probably wasn’t thinking ahead to his  21^st Century readers when he put pen to paper in this letter to Timothy, but these words ring out clear and true to this particular modern girl.

We’ve all heard the litany of the ills of our time, and probably each have a version of our own we can riff on with the smallest provocation.  Your litany would likely include some of these themes: stress, over-commitment, broken families, Godlessness, hopelessness, degraded culture, lowered standards, the noise, the expectations, the evening news.... Doesn’t it make you want to cry uncle?

It is no mistake that St. Paul links quiet and tranquility to devotion and dignity: the first two qualities are necessary for the latter to flourish.  Being prayerful, recollected people is difficult if we do not provide the conditions. St. Paul acknowledges this fact by directing us to supplicate, to pray, and petition that we be able to lead such lives no matter our role.

Perhaps because I am one of those people who frequently recites the litany of the ills of our time and prays for a radical change in how we live, I understand the last verse to mean what we read before is a requirement for this bit: to be saved and come to knowledge of the truth, we must lead a quiet and tranquil life in devotion and dignity. There is no other way. Paul is practically admonishing us to slow down, to chill out, to focus on First Things, and in doing so we will please God.

CTKS

While putting his Superman pyjamas on one night, Four was heard singing to the tune of Superman:
Superman
Puts on his clothes
Superman
Puts on his clothes
The girl helps him
The girl help him
Da da da da... da na na na

(The girl would be me)


Four has just begun kindergarten.  He's been longing to go on the school bus for years, and has all his life wanted to be the person going somewhere, saying goodbye to those left behind. There were no nerves, anxiety, doubts, or worries on his part - he was ready to conquer the world.  Each of the brothers, even Five, his inseparable companion till now, was pleased for him to finally be going on the school bus. The first day went off without a hitch - he was, in fact, blase about it.
On the second morning, I overheard this conversation between Four and Five:
"Five, I'm going to school again today."
"What??  Again?"
"Yes, Mommy says I go to school again today."
"But I wanted a turn!"

A few moments later, One was brushing Four's hair, asking him if he was excited to be going back to school again.
"Yes," he replied in a rather forlorn voice.  "But will I be going to school forever?"

Abolish the word

We all have words that drive us right around the bend, either because they are incorrectly used or used to point of being drained of all meaning. Some words send shivers of revulsion to our bowels for personal reasons. I happen to dislike 'pus' because of how it sounds and because of what it names. Some set our teeth on edge because of their clunky, awkward, inept construction and usage, or their suspect origin.  For example, I deplore the current trend of turning nouns into verbs, such as 'agenda' as in "Let's agenda this for next week."  Is it too difficult to say 'schedule'?

Pus and agenda aside, my first offerings for this inaugural Abolish the Word post are:

Orientate/orientated.   Makes my toes curl every time I hear someone say "I am show-jumping orientated." or "When I got to the mall, I tried to get myself properly orientated."
Say it with me, folks: ORIENTED!

Guys.  This word is overused to such an extent that you might almost believe there is no other word to use for a group of people. Are there alternatives?  How about folks, gang, group, class, people, ladies & gentlemen...just as an off-the-top-of-my-head start.


Are there words that simply curdle your inner word critic?

Nap attack

What is it about Sunday afternoons that are so drowsy?  Here it is, two in the afternoon and I can barely keep my eyes open.

Is it psychological?  Is it subliminal?  Or is it a genetic necessity of survival that human beings actually stop for one afternoon and snooze?

I like that last explanation.  Sunday is called the day of rest, after all.  God commands that we do no work on this day so I will merely be obedient when, in the next five minutes, I curl myself around my pillow and surrender to slumber.

Please close the door quietly on your way out.

Of hope and trust

I’m a planner.  I like to be in control, to know what is going on now, and what is going to happen later. Fear and pride are at the heart of this of course, but the myth I tell myself is that only I can do it right.

I have been on a slow journey to a goal. I believe that God has made the pursuit of this goal possible. It has to be God, because too many diverse circumstances resulted in just the right situation at the perfect time, incorporating several people and events – far too complex for me to have orchestrated.

And yet.  And yet I still hold on tight to the reigns; I still fret and worry and wonder and scheme.  On top of that, I have noticed a disappointing tendency in myself: while I try to wrest control of my life away from God, I also expect Him to do most of the work, like the man who prays to the saints to help him win the lottery, but never buys a ticket.

I’d been expecting to hear positive news regarding the goal I mentioned earlier. In this particular instance, I had actually applied myself to the task and fully expected – full of smug virtue – that I would be rewarded.  I waited for months, never doubting a positive outcome. Finally the result came back and the news was not glorious. Refused.  Rejected. 

Deflated.  I had a moment (or two) of questioning the goal.  I was feeling self-indulgent for persisting, doubting my ability to achieve anything, thinking about giving it up.

As He so often does in my life, God broke through the moment.  The readings of that day spoke to me about being filled with the knowledge of God’s will; to live in a manner worthy of the Lord; that every good work bears fruit; asking for endurance, patience, joy; to give thanks to the Father. (Col. 1: 9-12)  The gospel reading had Jesus telling Simon to cast his net into the deep – though he had worked hard all night with no result. They catch enough fish to nearly sink two boats.  (Lk. 5: 1-11)

Those readings may not strike you as being meant to encourage someone who was doubting her path in life, but believe me, on that day when I read them, I knew God was in control of the timing.  Praying with the daily readings is part of my regular habit, though by no means do I do so every day.  I remember deliberating that morning whether I would, and feeling nudged to do so.

I immediately felt at peace.  Gone was the doubt, the resignation.  I was encouraged and reassured - and also challenged to surrender to God.  I am to ‘cast into the deep’ as He bids me, and trust that the work will bear good fruit.

Who turned up the heat?

Whose idea was it to turn up the heat again?  We've had days and days of lovely - if slightly wet, thanks to Irene - weather, which is perfect because we're definitely in the mood for fall.  We're longing for socks and sweaters; brisk mornings and warm afternoons; and fresh, thick stacks of three-holed foolscap.  We thought we were over the last of summer's swelter, we were survivors.

You can bear anything if you know how long it will last: a needle, childbirth, a math exam, a really bad Al Pacino movie.  You brace yourself for that second, that day, that hour or two, because you know relief has an appointed arrival time.  Endurance becomes challenging when the difficult thing comes around again and again.  You think it's done with and congratulate yourself on having come through - but wait, here it is again.

So it is with the weather.  Granted, we don't have it so bad here, not like, say, Calgary, where they get 30 degree fluctuations in the space of a weekend, moving from three-foot snow drifts, to drinks on the terrace in shorts.  That said, I'm not looking forward to the projected high of 40 Celsius today.  I will make the progression from limp noodle to comatose steamed vegetable.  Ugh.

Whose idea was this?

My eyes!

I'm getting old.  I know this because my arms are getting longer.

When I read something lately (I should say 'try' to read something), particularly when it is in a minuscule font, what I see is tiny blotches, like baby ants walked through fine dust before they danced lightly across the paper I'm holding out at arm's length. I'm sure it's actually letters of the alphabet arranged in groups to make up words, informing me I shouldn't use heavy machinery while under the influence of the medication contained in the bottle I'm squinting at.

I didn't used to have a problem seeing what was right in front of me - it was further along the road that I had a hard time deciphering. Now I have little trouble reading road signs in the next county, but I recently bought a "Canadian Berry Pie" and couldn't read what the berries were. In helpful larger font I was informed there were five varieties of Canadian berries, but the list of fruit was ever so small. Who doesn't like summer berries though, right? I went through a list of likely suspects in my mind: strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries... hmm.  What else?  I squinted, but couldn't make the words cooperate and grow larger. I brought the pie home anyway.

That experience has taught me two things:
1. I don't like cranberries in my pie.
2. Always bring the spectacles when shopping.