Do Some Good

Tuesday's Child recently mentioned GoodSearch as an easy way to raise money for a cause you believe in. I've found a few additional cool ways that you can use your regular web activities to raise money for charity. Most of these use the money from ad revenues to make donations, some use referral fees to get you to shop at their stores. Either way, these are easy ways to make an impact.

The Hunger Site (and related sites): click a link and sponsors donate money toward food for the hungry. Bonus: shopping at their online store generates even more donations.

The Bible Site: same idea, but it raises money to give Bibles to the poor.

iGive.com: Shop at one of their designated stores and get a percentage of your purchase price donated to a charity of your choice.

I'm: configure Microsoft Live Messenger to make a donation to one of ten charities every time you have an instant messaging conversation.

Darfur Awareness Week

The Save Darfur Coalition has declared this week "Global Days for Darfur," a week to raise awareness of the humanitarian crisis in Sudan. This post is my little way of participating. Despite international pressure, the government of Sudan has been performing and supporting ethnic and religious cleansing in the southern province of Darfur. Over 400,000 people have been killed in the last three years. We read so many statistics that it's easy to gloss over them, so I'll say it again: over 400,000 people have been murdered in the last three years! Millions more have lost their homes and are completely reliant on foreign humanitarian aid. Thousands of women have been raped. A peace agreement was reached last winter that was supposed to help. But the government of Sudan is not keeping up its end of the deal, and conditions are getting very dangerous for humanitarian groups.

There are a lot of things you can do. If you have a blog, you can post like me and help to raise awareness. You can join the Save Darfur Coalition and help with advocacy. This effort incorporates regular people from across the political and religious spectrum who just don't want to stand by any more. Their TV ad may have made you cry and their petitions have been getting the attention of Congress. You can support the humanitarian work of Mercy Corps for free via The Hunger Site. Or if you'd like to aid the persecuted Christian Church, you can support The Voice of the Martyrs. Last, but certainly not least, you can pray. It's going to take a God-sized solution to deal with such a huge, evil problem.

He is Risen!

Happy Easter from Graces Three.

Horse . . . it's what's for Dinner??

Reader beware: This post is not for the faint of heart. Some of you have been clamoring for more from Tuesday's Child. Well . . . be careful what you wish for, you might get it. Without further ado, my latest work, as follows:

So this is completely unrelated to any of the usual spiritual or insightful themes typically published on this blog . . . but it is a subject very close to my heart(and a very heated and controversial one in certain circles, as well). Some of you may or may not be aware of this, but horses are slaughtered every day in this fine country for dinner. Yes, you read that right, for dinner.

"But do Americans eat horses?" you ask. No, no they don't. American horses are slaughtered for the dining pleasure of such fine people as the Italians, Belgians, French, and Japanese. "What??!??" Oh yes, this nasty little industry has been around for awhile. There are 3 plants, no, slaughterhouses (let's say it like it is) in the US that slaughter horses, Beltex and Dallas Crown in Texas, and Cavel in DeKalb, IL. All 3 of these are foreign-owned. All the meat (since it is actually illegal to sell horsemeat in the US, after all Americans DON'T eat horsemeat) gets shipped back to those other countries where it is consumed as a delicacy *shudder*.

But surely horses get humane treatment, surely they don't suffer in the process, surely they are treated with dignity in their final moments? Well, if you can stomach it, you may watch the video here. Be warned, it is pretty graphic but very accurate.

They are hauled to slaughter in doubledeck trailers designed for cattle, shocked with electric cattle prods, transported long distances without food or water, and then forced into chutes filled that smell of death where they are improperly stunned and then hung by a leg and bled to death. It is a process which is designed for cattle and not for horses, with their longer necks and their sensitivity to fear and pain. Humane? Hardly.

Some of you probably are aware of this, but many are not, I'm sure: I lost a beloved horse to slaughter 10 years ago this August. It was one of the most traumatic moments of my life. I won't go into all the details here, but suffice it to say it was at least 3 years before I could talk about her without breaking down completely. I commended her to Jesus' care, and I firmly hope and believe she is there with Him now . . . I look forward to going on a trailride with Jesus and Lady and some point (hopefully still a long way down the road). I cannot watch the above listed video without feeling the agony of knowing that is what her last hours on this Earth were like. I am haunted by horse slaughter constantly, as I think of all the auctions out there where perfectly good, but unwanted horses are sold to kill buyers for nothing more than their price per pound. I am reminded of her when I read about stolen horses (oh yes, horse thieving is alive and well in the US, and where do you think these horses end up?). I am reminded of her each time I donate money to Midwest Horse Welfare Foundation for an auction rescue, or look into the eyes of one of their horses, like Mary (visit the Adoption Horses page, you'll see who I'm talking about).

I know my current horse, Sammy, will never end up at a slaughterhouse. He will be donated to Scott and Karen at MHWF to adopt out to a loving person if, for some reason, I am not able to care for him any longer. Or he will be euthanized, when the time comes. I owe him that much. And he owes me nothing. None of them do.

They work for us, listen to our sorrows, take out frustrations and anger, teach us and our kids and friends how to ride and how to love and how to be responsible. They can be therapists. They can be confidantes. They can be friends.

And folks, I'm here to tell you that after years of struggle from concerned horsepeople all over the country, they can no longer be dinner!! That's right, as of this past Thursday, March 29, horse slaughter has been completely stopped in this country. 4 truckloads of slaughterbound horses were turned away from Cavel after the announcement was made that the slaughter of horses in the US for human consumption has been declared illegal. The ruling may be temporary, and requires laws passed by Congress to make it permanent and to prevent US horses from being shipped over the borders into Canada and Mexico, but this is great news for the horses! You can read more about the ruling at the MHWF forum thread here. Make sure to read it through from beginning to end. The last page has a link to the above posted video page, where you can send a note to your congressmen urging them to support the permanent bans of both horse slaughter and the transport of US horses to Mexico or Canada to meet the same fate.

This is FANTASTIC news. It came 10 years too late for my poor Lady, but hopefully another girl out there won't lose her horse to the same horrible fate. Hug a horse, and if you don't have one to hug, you are more than welcome to come and hug mine :)

PS : Oh, and while you're at it, use Goodsearch as your search engine and list Midwest Horse Welfare Foundation as your charity. They give money everytime you search, and then you too will be helping America's horses. Thanks for listening . . . er . . . reading :) T.C.

This Little Light

I was driving into Minneapolis one evening, enjoying the jewel box that is the city at night. Gazing at a particular building it occurred to me that all I was looking at was someone's office window. There was probably just a boring gray cubicle inside where someone cranks out their daily grind. A very ordinary place. Yet grouped with all the other lights, so beautiful. The thought came to me that maybe that's how our lives are. God calls so many of us to service that seems mundane and commonplace. Raising children, visiting neighbors, ushering at church. And from our small perspective, these things might seem drab and boring. But when we can see the work of all the church from the perspective of eternity, each little light will join with the others to form a shining, sparkling, scintillating masterpiece that will put the Milky Way to shame.

Psalm 103

"Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being,

praise his holy name.
Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits-
who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed

like the eagles." Psalm 103:1-5

"Redeems my life from the pit"...

I have never been in a pit, literally speaking, but I imagined myself in one this morning as I read this ...how I got there, I don't know....maybe I fell in, or someone threw me in, or even worse, maybe someone who I thought loved me, threw me in, or maybe I threw myself in...I don't know but what I can imagine is feeling so alone and afraid, no light, little air, maybe in pain, hungry, thirsty, dirty, maybe I don't care, maybe I want to die...maybe I feel worthless, loved by no one, maybe no one even knows I am gone...or maybe I deserve to be here, maybe I have done something so horrible to others, to myself, and the feelings of guilt and shame threaten to tear me apart...how would it feel to be left to die all by myself?

Days past, the tear streaks woven through my dirt covered face remain, almost as if they were cemented in. I have given up, tried everything I could to get out, finally, exhausted and weak, I put my face in my hands, my body heaves with sobs that my eyes can no longer cry...I am nothing. I have nothing. I deserve nothing. My life means nothing.

"He redeems my life from the pit"

And then...out of nowhere I feel a hand reach down and touch me and then another. Gently, carefully I am pulled up out of the darkness and those strong arms that pulled me up are now wrapped around me, holding me, whispering to me that I am everything. I have everything. I deserve everything. My life means everything.

"He crowns me with love and compassion"

He wipes the dirt from my face, He crowns me with a crown of love, of compassion.

"He satisfies my desires with good things so that my youth is renewed like the eagle's"

_ _ _

And though I have never been in a pit like that, I have been in pits symbolic of it and He has done the same for me and for all who love and believe in Him and He will do it for you too because...

"For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love..." Psalm 103:11

So today, if you get a chance, imagine yourself in that pit...imagine the feelings you would have...now imagine His arms reaching down, embracing you, crowning you with love and compassion, giving you the desires of your heart. "Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits..."

Goose, Anyone?

The good old Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) is at it again. This is the music industry lobby group that is boldly continuing it's crusade to kill the goose that laid the golden egg. Their latest target: they've co-opted Congress to pass a law requiring new, higher royalties be paid by internet radio stations. I'm all for artists being paid for their work, but this is a clear-cut case of blind greed. If they were just applying the standards for regular radio stations to internet radio, I might consider it foolish, but understandable. But the new rules would have web stations paying more than terrestrial broadcasters, and the rates are so high that many analysts are predicting it will bankrupt most, if not all, streaming services. This goes well beyond stupid into just plain wrong. Think about it: with the system the way it is, millions of people can listen online and discover new music. Under current regulations, industry gets paid a little bit for the broadcasts, but they get tons of free advertising. When the new rates drive Pandora, Live 365, and others out of business, the industry gets paid nothing. Period. Since I've started listening to internet radio, I've bought three CDs purely because I heard them online and nowhere else. I bought about he same number of CDs because I heard the artists on the regular radio. If RIAA wants to cash in on the internet radio phenomenon via gouging, their only going to end up killing half of their promotional pipeline. You'd think that a group so interested in golden eggs would like to keep the goose around.

weakness

I was looking through my journal and came across this poem that my brother had sent me a while back. I'm not sure who the author is. For some reason it really struck me again as I was reading it. I feel like I am supposed to post it to the blog, that maybe there is someone else who needs to hear this right now too.



“We like to put up a brave front,
To make a show of strength.
We wear ourselves out to be strong
To be capable,
To be helpful,
To do everything
For other people,
And we may end up
Frightening them half to death
With our efficiency.

Then sometimes it comes by accident,
The crack in the armor...
The shared moment of fear
Or pain,
The moment when we stretch out a hand and say
I too bleed,
I too cry—

And in relating from weakness
We may reach
What we never could have touched
With our strength.”


“...for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

A Miraculous Story of Life

You have to read this story about a premature baby - the earliest born to survive on record!

Live!

Nothing like a little Henry David Thoreau for an early Saturday morning....excerpts taken from "Walden"

"Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them. Their fingers from excessive toil, are too clumsy and tremble too much for that. Actually, the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity day by day; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to men; his labor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to be any thing by a machine. How can he remember well his ignorance- which his growth requires- who has so often to use his knowledge? We should feed and clothe him gratuitously sometimes, and recruit him with our cordials, before we judge him. The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly....

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation....they honestly think there is no choice left....Our life is frittered away by detail...The nation itself, with all its so called internal improvements, which, by the way, are all external and superficial, is just such an unwieldy and overgrown establishment, cluttered with furniture and tripped up by its own traps, ruined by luxury and heedles expense....it lives too fast....Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry...

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it..."

Let us live deep this day.

Father of the Heavenly lights (excuse the length!)

During my devotions (which seem to be few and far between these days I regret to say!) I turned to the first chapter of James. Having read it many times before, I (I again regret to say) was sort of skimming it and reading half -heartedly. I skimmed past my usual favorites..."Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds..." and "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault...", but it was at verse 17 and 18 that my eyes stopped. How many times had I read these verses and never really thought about what they were saying? "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." Of course I love the beginning, "Every good and perfect gift is from above", and my mind went immediately to my daughter napping next to me. It doesn't get much more "good and perfect" than that. But the words that really caught my attention that morning were, "Father of the heavenly lights". "Father of the heavenly lights". My God is the "Father of the heavenly lights". Wow, when I take a minute and actually think about what that means, it's almost unfathomable. My God, the One who has engraved me on the palms of his hands, as it says in Isaiah 49:16, is the Creator and Father of that great expanse of the world above me. Who hasn't layed in the grass on a summer's night or in the snow on a winter's night and looked up into the heavens and been overwhelmed by the immensity of what lay above? The dark, never ending sky, the glittering stars, the beautiful, spotted moon... I wonder if my mind will ever be able to grasp how my Father, who knows every hair on my head and every thought I have ever had, who daily listens and intercedes on my behalf, even when my requests seem so petty and trivial, is the same Father of the fiery sun, the roaring ocean, the towering sequoias... He, so powerful and magnificent, cares for me, loves me, delights in me! He, who sheds the tears I hide when I have been hurt, when my heart has been wounded by those who know nothing of who I am. He, who cheers and jumps up and down when I have risked and been me. He, who's heart is overflowing with the deepest love I could ever imagine, who can't stop gushing about how wonderful I am and how proud He is of me no matter what I do or don't do. He, who sits on my bed at night, when I am completely unaware, and gazes at me for hours, marveling at how beautiful I am and how much He loves me. That is my Father, our Father. I confess most days the thoughts I just shared that I had that morning reading James, never cross my mind. How little I think of Him being the Father of the heavenly lights. How little I shed tears when He has been hurt. How little I cheer and jump up and down when I have seen who He is. How little my heart overflows with deep love and I can't stop gushing about how wonderful He is and how proud I am of Him. How little I marvel at how beautiful He is and how much I love Him. And for this I ask forgiveness, because He deserves all that and more. But you know what? The beautiful thing is, He just keeps loving me in spite of it. I wanted to end with two things, one, one of my favorites, a song called When God Ran by Benny Hester, and two, a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson.(you will find he is one of my favorites, though he needs some guidance on who God truly is) I won't comment on them, they pretty much speak for themselves.

Almighty God,
The Great I Am
Immoveable Rock,
Omnipotent powerful
Awesome Lord,
Victorious Warrior
Commanding King of Kings
Mighty Conquerer,
And the only time,
the only time I ever saw Him run
Was when
He ran to me,
Took me in His arms, held my head to His chest
And said "My son's come home again".
Looked in my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice
He said "Son, do you know I still love you?"
It caught me by surprise when God ran
The day I left Home,
I knew I'd broken His heart
I wondered if
Things could ever be the same,
Then one night,
I remembered His love for me
And down that dusty road, ahead I could see
It's the only time,
the only time I ever saw Him run
Was when He ran to me,
Took me in His arms, held my head to His chest
And said "My son's come home again".
Looked in my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice
He said "Son, do you know I still love you?"
It caught me by surprise, He brought me to my knees
When God ran
I saw Him run to me
And then I ran to Him

Holy God, Righteous One
Who turned my way
Now I know, He's been waiting
For this day

And then He ran to me,
Took me in His arms, held my head to His chest
And said "My son's come home again".
Looked in my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice
I felt His love for me again

He ran to me,
Took me in His arms, held my head to His chest
And said "My son's come home again".
Looked in my face, wiped the tears from my eyes
With forgiveness in His voice
He said Son, He said Son, He called Me Son!
Do you know I still love you
oohhh...He ran to me
When God ran.

"If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown!"

On the neighbor theme

So last weekend I was sitting on my couch, minding my own business and reading a good book (one of the Ted Dekker Circle Trilogy books to be precise). Dear Hubby was upstairs playing computer games. It was a nice, lazy Sunday in January.

Suddenly, Dear Hubby comes charging down the stairs and nwants to know about the dude outside. I look and I notice the dude seems to be a little shifty looking. At first I think he is one of the crowd of people who regularly goes in and out of the rental across the street from us. Maybe he is just waiting for someone to come out of the house or maybe pick him up from the house. But then I notice the nondescript early 90's red car sitting there with a person in it.

Now this is not a normal car to be sitting idle outside these houses, and I am pretty familiar with every "high class" vehicle that normally sits outside our house at any given day or time, and this red thing isn't one of them. Plus, it's DANG cold, like zero degrees or less. And this dude is just standing there. I'm telling you, he looks shifty.

So Dear Hubby and I watch a little, and he continues to stand there, outside the vehicle. Slowly, a large black expensive SUV pulls up on our side of the street, and Shifty Dude walks across the street to the SUV. The SUV window rolls down, some sort of exchange is made, the SUV window goes back up, the SUV pulls away from the curb and proceeds up the street, and Shifty Dude, looking shiftier than ever, goes back across the street and gets into the car.

At this point, Dear Hubby tells me he had seen the black SUV go down our street and come back up a couple of times from upstairs, and that was what had prompted him to come down. Now, we take the ultimate step, Dear Hubby calls 911 (you know you live in a questionable neighborhood when you are encouraged to call 911 for any little suspicious thing you see. They use it as a tracking system to try and funnel more police prescence into our area). We report the goings on and are told a squad is being dispatched. Now we sit back and anxiously wait.

See, I have this highly developed sense of justice, and I want Shifty Dude and his Red Car Driving Accomplice to get caught. How DARE they do drug deals in front of MY house!! We watch and wait, breathing "hurry up" prayers for the squad car every few seconds. Shifty Dude and his R.C.D.A are bent over something in the car. What are they doing?

Suddenly, Shifty Dude steps back out of the car, rubbing his nose like he's got a schnoz full of toot, and starts to meander down the sidewalk. The R.C.D.A pulls slowly out from the curb and drives down the block. They round the corner and disappear!! Dear Hubby and I are very much dismayed. We wanted to see these guys busted! But, sorely disappointed, Dear Hubby calls back 911 and advises them that Shifty Dude has moved on.

Fast forward to that evening. Ten o'clock or so. It is still about zero degrees, windy, and it is now snowing. The doorbell rings. We look at each other. Who rings a doorbell in our neighborhood at ten o'clock on a Sunday night? We aren't expecting anyone. This can't be good.

Dear Hubby goes to the door. I turn down the TV, but don't manage to catch much of the exchange. Thoughts flit through my head . . . someone looking for drug money? What if he gets shot? Dear Hubby closes the door and sits down. Who was it? Some guy who had walked several blocks looking for baby formula for his baby. They just moved here from Seattle. He had his Seattle drivers license and a utility bill listing his address on Emerson, verifying himself.

And I am smitten with remorse. What would Jesus have done? Here we were, all set to be judge and jury for Shifty Dude, waiting to cheer his capture, his just desserts. And this poor man, just looking to catch a break after walking so far-- I had him pegged to be a dangerous person too. And I find myself wondering, what good are we doing in this neighborhood?

I mean, I want to be here to make a difference. I want to be a light for Jesus, to shine in the darkness that is North Minneapolis. But when Jesus shows up at my door, I turn him away. True, we don't have cash, and we don't have baby formula. I thought maybe we could have taken him to the store in our car (and then the thought creeps in, "what if he would overpower you and steal your car?" After all, as Dear Hubby points out, baby formula is used to cut cocaine). But it WAS after ten o'clock and the closest grocery stores would have been closed. Dear Hubby is still skeptical. Maybe he was just out looking for drug money. But my gut says otherwise. Why would he have had all that documentation to prove himself? He must have known people would think that. I asked Dear Hubby if he saw the guy's address. Maybe we could take a bag of groceries over the next day. But no, he didn't see it. So, there again, we fail. I find myself hoping that someone else did help the guy out. But when Jesus shows up at your door, YOU are called to help Him, not pray for Him to send help. I was the help. And I failed.

So I ask for forgiveness and I move forward, hoping and praying that next time, I can actually BE Jesus to someone in need. Not be so worried about my possessions or my person. Doesn't everything belong to Jesus anyway? Help my fellow man. Actually make a difference in this neighborhood.

After all, if I don't, who will?

God's Horizon

"A nobler want of man is served by nature, namely, the love of Beauty...The simple perception of natural forms is a delight. The influence of the forms and actions in nature, is so needful to man, that, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of commodity and beauty. To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself. The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, as long as we can see far enough." __ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature

Sometimes I wonder as I sit looking out my living room window at the tall vertical stripes of the half brick/half tan siding of apartment 2466, where everyone’s blinds are always pulled shut and balconies always remain empty, which overlook the cracked, black and white speckled pavement of the half frozen parking lot, littered with cigarette butts and the few stray flattened pop cans, where the red 1980's Toyota 4Runner truck with the bumper sticker "I'm voting for kids" sits stationary in the same place day after day and the Dodge Shadow rests, with the missing interior and driver's side window stuck three-fourths of the way up, if maybe, just maybe, I'm missing something?

I wonder if somehow my run-on sentence isn't metaphorical for life. If those tall vertical stripes of half brick/half tan siding that block me, day after day, from seeing the sun set or the expanse of the sky , aren't slowly, without my knowing, taking from me more than I ever imagined. If maybe, they are wearing me down, deadening me to life, to passion, to beauty. "We are never tired, as long as we can see far enough." Can I? Can we? Do we have the time in our busy, time consumed world to look for the "horizon"? How easy it is to just get through the day, waking up, going to work, coming home, going to bed, that we lose those things that once gave us passion and a desire to truly live? I ask myself, "When was the last time I woke up refreshed and enthusiastic, not wanting the day to ever end? When was the last time I was so excited about life that my heart felt as if it would break through its tiny caged home? When was the last time I used my giftings or pursued something I love and felt that great surge of passion flow from me?"

I wonder if God looks down and is saddened by how little we expect from Him and all that He has to offer. If He creates a beautiful sunset, or sends the monarch floating by or places the smile on a sleeping baby and then sits on the edge of His seat, full of childlike anticipation, hardly able to contain His excitement, waiting for and desiring us to see and to recognize the beauty and life He has created for us to marvel in?

"The tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself." Maybe that is the answer, maybe in order to become a man/woman again, in order to find ourselves we must first take the time to step out of our busy, often comfortable worlds and then we must be willing to see. To see beyond the tall brick buildings that block our view and look further to the horizon of the life God has been waiting to show us.

Wear Red on February 2

Tomorrow is National Wear Red Day. No, this is not another made-up holiday! Wearing red is a tool to raise awareness for women's heart disease. Many people, including women and even their doctors, think of heart disease as a man's problem. But it's the leading cause of death for American women! There are lots of great resources on GoRedForWomen.org. Besides learning about heart disease, you can shop for cool gifts that help raise money for women's heart health education. You can even order a free red dress pin, which this cause uses instead of a colored ribbon. Know your numbers! Make healthy choices! Wear red!

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Today I was reading the familiar story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37. Of course, I've heard and read it a thousand times, but something caught my attention. It starts with an expert in Jewish law, who, after correctly stating that the Scripture teaches to love God and one's neighbor, asks Jesus "And who is my neighbor?" (v. 29) Jesus tells the parable and concludes by saying "Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?" (v. 36)

In typical fashion, Jesus didn't answer the man's question. This expert wanted to pick and choose the neighbors he could feel good about loving, and not worry about anyone else. But Jesus turned it around on him. Rather than looking for neighbors, Jesus commands him to be a neighbor. There is no limit, no qualifier on who he is to be a neighbor to. He is to take the active role and assume neighbor status for everyone. As usual, this is a much steeper order than it first appears; one that we won't be able to accomplish on our own. It's impossible to be a great neighbor to everyone if we are stuck with our own minuscule resources and stingy hearts. But with God, nothing is impossible.

Piano, guitar, and...tuba?

Music is an interesting continuum. On one end, you have classical music, which can be very technical and strictly defined. It's often called "serious" music. On the other end, you have jazz. Many songs rise from basic "charts" that really only provide a skeleton; the artists improvise most of what you hear. People don't usually go to school specifically to be jazz musicians.

But more than once, I have found that a continuum is better represented by a circle than a straight line. The apparent polar extremes can loop back on each other. For instance, to be a good jazz musician one must have great technical skill with one's instrument. Similarly, it is a sign of a virtuoso if an artist can improvise a cadenza in a famous concerto. Andre Previn and Wynton Marsalis are two examples of people who have bridged this gap with great success.

And this week I found a third. I was listening the "Real Jazz" station on XM Radio. I wasn't paying much attention, but suddenly I heard something "out of the corner of my ear." I recognized the strains of "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," but smiled when I realized it was being played by a tuba! Sam Pilafian, one of the founding members of the Empire Brass, has also made several jazz recordings. Empire Brass is one of the top horn ensembles in the classical music world. But Mr. Pilafian was not content to be boxed into one genre. Once you get past the initial humor of hearing a tuba play jazz, you realize he's really good at it. This is not a gag recording, although it may stray into the realm of novelty. He launches into improvised solo as if a tuba were as natural to jazz as a piano or trumpet. It's a good reminder that music is not just entertainment, but art. A little creativity can cross boundaries and produce delightful results.

A Bit Presumptuous

I guess I'd better get my act together and introduce myself! First, let me say what a joy and honor it is to share this space with my two friends. Writing is not a talent you often get to observe in your friends. So being able to share the "page" with these ladies is great fun.

The moniker "GuruChick" seems a bit presumptuous in retrospect, but that's ok. Hey, it's the internet, no one really knows if I'm a guru in anything! The name comes from my early days in the technology world. I was the only girl in my high school computer science class. On my birthday, all the guys signed a card for me and said "You're the coolest computer chick we know."

I have since gotten away from writing software, but now I work in medical technology. Essentially, I provide tech support for implantable defibrillators. I love my job; it's different every day and I get to help people. And that's just the days I'm in the office! My other "job" is being home part-time with my 8-month-old, Walter. You can always read my latest "proud mom" post on his blog, NextGenGurus.

I used to have a solo blog at GuruChick.com. With a new baby, I just didn't have the time, energy, or creativity to put out enough content on my own. So I'm excited to do a group project like this. I can still do some non-mom blogging but there's less perceived pressure to post. I hope you're looking forward to all that is to come in this space. I know I am!

Any Volunteers???

So my second post on this brand new blog is going to be little more than a rant. Hopefully, I won't come across a very angry person. Here goes nothing . . . Where the heck are all the volunteers???

Ok, so I signed up to maybe assist in a Spanish class and somehow I find myself in charge and being the only teacher. "How did this happen?" you may ask. Well I'll tell you . . . I don't know.

One minute I'm getting contacted to take part in an initial volunteer meeting about the possibility of maybe having a beginner Spanish class at church, and the next thing I know, I'm putting together a bulletin announcement with my name and home phone number as the sole contact. And I find myself asking the question in vain, "Any volunteers?". And I wait, and wait.

A single, solitary email. I answer, eagerly. No response. A phone call. A call back to him. Good, good, he's interested in helping. Not teaching the class, mind you, but helping. Well, it's a start . . . And then . . . it all goes to pot. You see, the one person who was interested in helping is unable to attend any of the meetings.

Meanwhile, the pastor is holding onto me (and Dear Hubby, who also got sucked into this--it's a wonderful opportunity to minister as a couple, you know) for dear life.

You see, I am his lifeline. Apparently in this church of nearly 5000 regular attenders, this lack of volunteerism is a common occurrence. What?!??! Oh yes, he frequently only has one or two volunteers rise to the occasion.

See people in our church (as is the case, I'm told, in most churches, regardless of size) don't like to "step up". When it comes right down to it, they want to sit back, hear a sermon once a week, maybe do a good deed once in awhile outside of church, and show up for whatever sort of helpful class or seminar may be held. They don't seem to want to volunteer. No rolling up the sleeves and getting dirty, metaphorically. When it comes to literal dirtying of the person, as in construction or cleanup, they actually are quite good. We always have a huge turnout for those sorts of outreaches. Those are the easy ones. Take one Saturday afternoon, score a few points for heaven, store up a little treasure and all that. But when it comes to investing long term, there is a woeful lacking.

Every few months or so, there is a desperate cry for help from the Children's ministry that they need more volunteers. They are having to turn people away. The youth ministry, also, frequently looks for leaders to step up. Covenant Groups are open and remain unfilled because a large part of the church isn't involved in a small group.

Now I completely understand the desire for anonymity. I myself was not involved in a small group or other ministry for several years. I totally get that. There's the whole time factor, everyone's busy, blah blah blah. I get it. What I don't get is how people don't understand the whole lots-of-little-ants-working-together-can-carry-a-big-log thing. It shouldn't be like pulling teeth to get people to use their gifts. It shouldn't be up to a few people who are giving their time and energy to serve the vast mass of people who are always taking and never giving back.

How did I find myself in charge of a 10 week Spanish class that I never intended to do more than assist with? What's the point of all this? Not much more than a rant, but thanks for listening.

So be motivated. Come on, ants . . . we've got a log to move!

Philosophia's Violet

I’ve always been an admirer of the wood violet. Her tiny petals beckoning the woods to once again embrace the new life spring has to offer. When only a few others have dared to peek their heads, the wood violet boldly stretches her limbs and announces to the world, “Awaken, arise, do not fear. No longer must you lie waiting in the barren darkness, no longer must you hide. The time has come for you to melt what is frozen, unshackle what holds you in, to reach upward and open the beauty that lies within.” She, in her unassuming, humble existence, so easily dismissed and trodden upon by those hurrying by, looks to her Creator and offers the world what it so longs, what it so needs...hope. Hope, that there is life when all seems dead. Hope, that there is more, more dreams to be fulfilled, more joys to come. Hope, that your existence is not in vain, that you have been created to, in your own unique way, bring life and beauty to the world around you.

And that is why I have chosen to call myself Philosophia’s Violet. I do not assume to know much of philosophy or theology or who’s who in politics or anything really. And I have not been much of a beacon of hope. I have spent a good portion of, if not all, my life waiting, hiding, not wanting to let go of the fears frozen inside, not wanting to share with the world the beauty God has created within. But like the tiny wood violet, I know I, as we all do in our own way, have something to share that the world so desperately needs. And so, I here humbly begin sharing my philosophies and thoughts on life, and love and anything else in-between. It is my prayer that I, and any other readers will glimpse the hope and the beauty that exists today.

Tuesday's Child is full of . . . something

So the title of the blog is Graces Three. How convenient, I thought, I'll just call myself Tuesday's Child. After all, the old poem goes that Tuesday's Child is "full of grace", and I was, actually, born on a Tuesday. But the thing is, I don't live up to my supposed character. I am, quite possibly, the least graceful person I know.

I drop things, trip over myself, and say the wrong thing all the time. I even sprained the same ankle twice, and not doing anything even remotely dangerous (once doing a ballet move in my living room, and once when I was "skipping nimbly about the rocks"on the shores of Lake Supeior). I am, actually, a most UNgraceful lady. But that doesn't stop me from trying.

And then I realized, if I am saved by grace, then I must also be full of grace, right? Maybe my particular brand of grace is the more inconspicuous type. The kind that only I know about. Hmm . . . maybe it's a secret, yeah that's it. I have secret grace, an inner grace. One that you may not notice when you meet me, or even when you get to know me. But hopefully, the little light shines through anyway. After all, my inner grace is intended to be shared, not hidden.

So if I am meant to be a secret agent, playing the part of a mild mannered patient services representative for a local clinic by day, I need to let it be known that the secret agency I work for isn't the usual type. I am meant to be infiltrating the culture, permeating all I meet with love and understanding. Building relationships with those I come into contact with. Sharing that inner grace that I am full of. This is my mission, should I choose to accept it.

I have accepted it. And that is why I am Tuesday's Child.

Graces Who?

Interestingly enough, none of us is really named Grace. We are Anne, Marisa and Joanna, three friends who met in a church small group. When we realized that we all enjoy writing, we thought it would be fun to do a blog together.

Our name refers to the three Graces of Greek mythology: goddesses of beauty, charm and creativity. That describes us well! ;) If you add an apostrophe, we're also Grace's Three, women saved by the grace of Jesus.

While we are close friends who share many common interests, we are also very different. We would like all who read the blog to understand that our posts (after this one, anyway) will be our own individual thoughts and viewpoints. What is shared by one may not be the opinion of another. But there again, the grace theme comes into play. We have all agreed to give each other grace, even though the other two may have different (ahem, wrong) opinions.
:P

"We have different gifts, according to the grace given us." Romans 12:6a