The road not taken

Both Carl and I sometimes wonder if we are where we are supposed to be.  Perhaps we got off track somewhere and are far off course from what God intended for our lives.

Thinking about that can give me a headache.

God doesn't push us around a board like a chess piece, or, as I prefer, a Parcheesi token.  While it is true that many choices affect our lives forever, both good and not so good, surely God can redeem whatever unfortunate situation in which we inadvertently, or advertently (is that a word?), find ourselves.

Perhaps we second guess everything into a corner.  Analyzing everything forty ways to Sunday, trying to figure out where, or if, we got it wrong.  Were we intended for something greater?  Is this what I wanted to be when I grew up?

Hindsight being what it is, it is only when we look backward that we can see how God has used our choices, whether they were His "optimum" plan or something far less spiritually motivated, to shape us, sometimes break us, but ultimately to draw us to Himself through His love and to use us to further His purposes.  Rather humbling, really.

It would be nice to clearly see forward instead of backward, but as St. Paul said, we now see through a glass darkly, and know only in part.  But then [oh, great day!] we shall know even as we are known.  1 Corinthians 13:12

So Carl and I will press on in faith, by the grace of God, down the road we are traveling, trusting, like Mr. Frost, that we've chosen well, and that when it is time to turn another direction, that God will make us aware of it.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; 

Though as for that the passing there 

Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally lay 

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.  

- Robert Frost

Faith and Perspective

I've been unemployed since September 1, 2011, and will at last begin a new job on Monday, March 25, 2013, and in reviewing the past year and a half of the job search, I began thinking (again) about faith and perspective.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.  Hebrews 11:1

How I love the King James Version of this verse.  Faith giving heft and tangibility to something unknown, unseen.  Making the object of hope into something palpable, when we are faced only with questions and the unknown.  We are so wired in to touch, smell, sight, what we can physically perceive.  Faith fills in for the physical when all we have is something spiritual to hold.

Fortunately, time often gives the perspective to observe faith backwards:

Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.  Hebrews 11:3

I'm only an amateur theologian, but this says to me that what we can see now, the things that are, these were created out of something we don't understand.  From something totally out of this world, beyond our ken.  God loops us into His process through faith and gives us the ability to slightly understand the inconceivable.  This process applies to life, too.

Thoughts like this bend my brain into awkward positions and make me a bit dizzy.  I can almost hear the synapses crackling with electric activity inside my head.  Inconceivable!

"You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means." - Inigo Montoya

I've been sincerely looking for work, perhaps not as desperately as some since Carl is employed and we are hardly starving, but faithfully looking since we returned from our honeymoon, dutifully applying for positions I didn't want, sometimes even prayed I wouldn't be offered, telling God as I pressed the "send" button to release my resume "You know I don't really want this job, but I need one", especially while I was receiving an unemployment check and required to keep a list of job applications.  I confess I had other things on my mind the first few weeks of unemployment, wedding plans, becoming a wife, settling in to the Rectory.  Marrying Carl and the ensuing process of becoming a wife and "Rectorina" is an entire story of faith and perspective all by itself.

Throughout the process of job hunting, I tried to figure out what I was looking for.  The target is easier to hit if you can see it.  I went through a long list of possibilities, but the consistent theme was to find something part time, close to home, potentially something entirely different than listed on my resume.  I am very content to be here for Carl and keep house, prepare meals and be part of our church and community, things I don't think I could do well while working 40 hours and commuting again.

Meanwhile I applied.  And waited.

"I hate waiting." - Inigo Montoya

There were a few interviews for jobs I was only mildly interested in, though happy to have an interview, but partly relieved when they went no where.  And one interview at a pretty cool place that never called me back to let me know they hired someone else.  I still give them the stink eye when I walk by the building.  The Lord closed doors - I asked Him to clearly open or close them each time I interviewed, so am thankful.  BUT, looking back, NOW, on the other end, about to begin a part time job that really seems to fit the bill (pun intended: paychecks certainly do that!), I have a fresh perspective on His timing, on faith.  This particular door was not open at the time I began looking, and God knew that.  Even if I did complain audibly more than once, and wish for handwriting on the wall.  Oh, me of little faith!

Did I mention I hate waiting?


As this new chapter in life's adventure begins, I give thanks that I can review chapters already written and see, once again, the faithfulness of God and put my own tiny faith in perspective.  I am a slow learner, but God is patient and keeps repeating Himself until I get it.

Speaking of faith, where is SPRING?  Until she shows her face,  have faith in the evidence of things not seen; they are buried underneath the snow.  :)


For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.  For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that ii may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the the thing whereto I sent it.  For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.  Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree: and is shall be to the LORD for a name, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.  Isaiah 56: 8-13

Going bananas!

If you have a Facebook account, by now you've likely seen the post about the yellow banana shaped banana slicer available on Amazon.com (only $2.48, if you need something to meet the $25 free shipping minimum!)  Despite my adoration for clever gadgets, and my Amazon habit, so far I have resisted this purchase (pat me on the back.)  I did, however, use a wedding gift to purchase a banana tree.  It is in almost constant use at our house, one of our favorite fruits and usually the first entry on my shopping list.  And bananas look so cheerful hanging there.

Did you know that the best way to begin peeling a banana is to break open the end opposite the stem?  This was a major revelation to me after years of mushing the top of my banana in an effort to peel it.  This method seems to remove the little strings, too. For all you scrabble fans, the strings are called phloems.  Pronounced FLOM, long "o."  I learned that bit of trivia today when I consulted Chiquita's website for fun facts.

Another fun fact:  according to Chiquita, the scientific name for banana is musa sapientum, which means fruit of the wise men.  Or woman, in my case.  ;)

Did you know you can use the inside of a banana peel to polish your shoes, silverware and your houseplants?  After which, of course, you can put the peels in your compost pile, an excellent addition of nutrients (if your dear husband remembers to put them in the compost bin.  If not, just fish them out of the garbage and do it yourself!  Yes, Carl, I know I am slightly obsessive. ♥ )

Did you know a bunch of bananas is called a hand?  One banana is a finger.  Did you know they grow up from the stem, rather than hang like they do on my banana tree?

The best thing about bananas, besides their clever wrapper, cheerful color and obvious health benefits, is the one that is almost always left sitting sadly on the counter after the rest have been eaten, one that turns a distasteful looking brown.  Yes, this is the best thing!  I used to feel an holy sense of obligation to eat these overly ripe bananas despite the rather mushy consistency.  BUT, a clever friend of mine showed me how she keeps a zipper bag in the freezer and collects the brown bananas to save for...

BANANA BREAD!  Yay!  This is now my "go-to" favorite, a great snack, best with generous amounts of butter and with a cup of tea in the evening.  It also makes a nice hostess gift.  My favorite recipe comes from Chiquita Banana's Recipe Book, a thin paper book published in 1950 which belonged to my Grandma.  I generally save up five or six bananas so I can double the recipe and freeze one loaf.  Before baking, thaw the bananas for a few hours - the inside slips right out of the peel (from the bottom!)

BANANA TEA BREAD

• 1 3/4 cups sifted flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/3 cup shortening [I use Crisco]
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 2 eggs, well beaten
• 1 cup mashed ripe bananas (2-3 bananas)
• [Optional, but oh, so tasty!]  1 cup finely cut dried apricots.

Sift together flour, baking powder, soda and salt.  Beat shortening until creamy in mixing bowl.  Add sugar gradually and continue beating until light and fluffy.  Add eggs and beat well.  Add flour mixture alternately with bananas, a small amount at a time, beating after each addition until smooth.  [If using apricots, fold into completed mixture.]  Turn into a well-greased bread pan (8 1/2 x 4 1/2 x 3 inches) and bake in a moderate oven (350F.) about 1 hour 10 minutes or until bread is done.  Makes 1 loaf.  

In lieu of apricots, add 1 cup finely cut prunes, 1 cup seedless raisins or 1/2 cup coarsely chopped nuts.

The recipe will also make 3 mini loaves, which need only about 45 minutes bake time and which make lovely gifts.

The clean dishes looked pretty enough for a photo. 

.5mom

Daffynition:  .5mom: someone who becomes an adoptive sister when she is 31.  [Though I'm younger now...]

The following is an excerpt from an article I wrote for my alumni newsletter back in 1999.

In March 1998, Charles and Ella Mae Hedgepeth, my parents, traveled to Russia to finalize the adoption of two children.  It took some time for the Lord to change my dad’s mind about adopting after having raised a family of five.  By then my “baby” sister was already a junior in college.  I was pretty confident nothing could change his mind, however the Lord knew of two red-headed kids in need, so now I am the oldest of seven.

My mom has likened the eleven months of red tape to an extended pregnancy, however my parents ran into very few snags once they arrived in Russia.  The eighteen hour train ride from Moscow into the countryside was like a scene from Dr. Zhivago.  The poverty of Russia was evident in every village.

Mikhail, nicknamed Misha, and Oksana, now nine and six, are the youngest of five children in their Russian family, and spent about a year in the orphanage after being removed from their home.  On March 11, 1998, they were adopted as Hedgepeths and flew home to meet the rest of their new family.  The first few weeks they were here, the language barrier presented a real challenge, but the LORD provided an interpreter to help relay questions and answers between my parents and the kids.  At dinner we adults would talk across the table in English while Misha and Oksana chatted away in Russian, but we somehow communicated.

My first memory of the kids is the huge hug Misha gave me when we met them at JFK airport.  Since then we have been the beneficiaries, and sometimes victims, or a lot of hugs and kisses.  I am constantly amazed at the love and affection Misha and Oksana have shown us and brought to our home.

Mish and Oksana are best friends.  They never slow down and enjoy running at top speed and wrestling with each other at every opportunity.  Our new family motto inside the house is “this is not a gym.”  Life before they came seems quite dull by comparison.  They, too, are amazing children, healthy and intelligent, though they have become quite American and fuss about homework which interferes with play time or television.

Misha remembers more of his life in Russia than Oksana and would someday like to return to Russia to see his other sister and brothers.  Considering some of the tales he has told, it is only by the grace of God in answer to many prayers made by family and friends that he and Oksana have adjusted so well to our family and their new life in the US.  Our prayer now is that they will soon come to know Jesus as Savior and continue to learn about Him.

Whether as adoptive parents or new big sister, we agree that children are a blessing from the LORD. 

I'm not sure where the time went, but today Misha is 23 and Oksana is 20.  Misha can lift me off the ground, which is no small feat.  He's also great for a back rub.  Oksana is in college, gaining lots of knowledge, and there are moments when she mothers me instead of the other way around.  Having them as my "half kids" is as close to motherhood as I may get, and I am thankful for them.   My emotions run the gamut when I think about them, as in any close relationship and, I presume, "normal" parenthood.

They recently reconnected with their siblings in Russia and discovered they have a younger sister.  Reconnecting will help answer questions and fill in blanks but certainly opens up a new flurry of emotions, so if you would, please say a prayer for them.  

I would post current photos of them, but don't wish to face the stink eye.  This was taken in December 1998.

To tenacity and furry beasts

Carl and I have an ongoing battle with squirrels.  On principle we think that bird seed should be for BIRDS.  I suppose squirrels can't read the label on the bag, so perhaps we should forgive them for snacking on food intended for creatures with feathers instead of fur, nevertheless we find them annoying since as long as they are perched on the feeder, birds stay away.

Last fall I hung a suet feeder on a shepherd's hook, just outside the window where I can watch the birds from my desk.  Birds love suet.  As do grey furry beasts.  We tried greasing the pole.  That would work two times before having to reapply, since squirrel bellies wipe off the pole nicely, and after a bath, they were snacking happily.  So I began a game of waiting until just the right moment to pull open the window to scare off whichever of the four squirrels that hang around our yard happened to be feasting at the moment.  There is something perverse in me that enjoys watching squirrels fly.  To their credit, or their Creator's. they always land on their feet.  I hope the neighbors didn't see the crazy lady yanking up the window and hear her evil snicker.

For Christmas, Carl gave me a squirrel proof feeder.  [Insert snort]  When a squirrel hangs on the feeder, its weight pulls down a metal cage, covering the feed openings.  For the most part, the feeder has lived up to its name, however one lucky fellow managed to hang in just the right way from the pole, forcing down the cage to expose the cap where we add seed, figured out how to pull it off with his tiny teeth, and would have had his head inside the feeder if I hadn't opened the window and hollered at him.

I like to think I am smarter than the average thieving yard rat.   While greasing a pan for baking it occurred to me to use a bit of Crisco on top of the feeder, then sprinkle on some chili powder.  That was good for a few laughs, observing the wrinkled noses of the squirrels when they inhaled the first time.  And returned again and again, hoping it was gone, only to dart away in disappointment.  Well, apparently they invited a distant Mexican cousin to come for a visit, who as you can see above, enjoyed licking the top clean.

Foiled again.

I really do like squirrels.  They always appear to be in a good mood, chasing each other around, up and down trees, chattering, and eating.  Not a bad life, if you don't count having to avoid traffic in order to stay alive in a village.  And squirrels are very persistent, an admirable trait.  To them I dedicate some verse:

Proverbs 6:6-11 RRV*

Go to the squirrel, thou grumpus,
consider his ways and be happy.
Which, having no guide, analyst or cheerleader
Provideth entertainment in the summer
and gathereth nuts and stakes out the birdseed to harvest.
How long wilt though fight the inevitable, O grumpus?
When wilt thou admit defeat?
Yet a little suet, a little seed,
A little climbing of the pole to dine.
So shall thy feeder empty as if dumped over,
and thy tactics be foiled once more.


*Revised Rectorina Version

170

170: Written March 15, 2012.

Pieces of my heart

broken, like your precious pulse. 
Tiny hope, no more.



On Friday, March 2, 2012, I had surgery for an abdominal pregnancy.  Though I was asymptomatic, my doctors had been watching me closely since blood work indicated that hormone levels were not increasing properly, nor could they locate a heartbeat.  On a hunch, my doc sent me for one more ultrasound and the technician located a heartbeat up close to left side of my rib cage, outside the fallopian tubes, so I was sent for surgery at which time they found I was already beginning to bleed internally.  God was surely watching out for me.  I am thankful for excellent medical care and simply to be alive.  However, each morning I rub vitamin E cream into my scar and am reminded.

Knowing that a little person, about eight weeks grown, with a regular heartbeat of about 170, had to die so that I could live is hard.  That seems backwards somehow.  Life is so sacred.  He (I like to think of the baby as he) was fearfully and wonderfully made.  I don't pretend to understand the whys and wherefores of eternity, but imagine he is with Jesus, a beautiful little soul that I can meet someday. 

Many women I love have experienced loss of a child in some way.  Burying a stillborn, suffering miscarriage, all result in small, broken pieces of our hearts.  Jesus mends brokenness.  When I attempt to mend something broken, often there are tiny shards left that can't be glued.  Perhaps He collects and uses the broken bits to create a mosaic, something that will be lovely when it is complete, but the little bits are sharp and can still cut if we handle them. 


Today I will allow myself to feel loss, accept heavenly comfort as well as human kindness.  I pray it will keep my heart more tender, allow me to better understand the rest of broken humanity, and  increase my ability to see things with the love of Jesus.

Bilbo B. Lunden

Carl and I are both seeking specific direction from God.  Over breakfast this morning we were discussing the will of God.  Does He have a preferred will for us, a specific will for us, or does He work within the choices we make for ourselves using the intelligence He's given to us?  Perhaps all of the above are true at different times.

As I look back at life, especially the past two years, I have no regrets, at least not in the big sense.  There are specific moments I'd take back, words spoken in haste, but I am where I belong, with Carl, finding my way as a wife, learning on the fly how to be a step mom (hopefully not too wicked) and to love and live with two teens, becoming a home maker, cook, exploring the liturgy and worshiping as an Episcopalian, making new friends and settling in to a new home and community.  Life turned on its head, really, but I am confident that the Lord had His hand on the process and is using it to grow me.  But that is another topic!

So. I belong here.  Now.  Nevertheless, I'm restless.  I've been looking for a new job for well over a year, praying, asking God time and again to direct my steps, open a door, close doors, and I believe He has done that.  But I'm still restless.  For something bigger to be involved in.  An opportunity to do something worthwhile.  A paycheck would be nice.  Or to volunteer somewhere.  There are too many choices, yet none, or so it seems.  Being a good wife is my first priority, and I'm so blessed to be here for my Carl, yet I like to think I have something else to accomplish.  What???

How I wish God still spoke from burning bushes, out of donkey's mouths or wrote on walls.  "Sharon, THIS IS GOD.  I want you to..."  How I envy people I know who have always had a defined direction, like my sister, who decided when she was young to be a doctor, which she is now.  Or my brother, who felt a call to missions when he was a kid.  (My strongest direction is unfortunately toward the cookie tin.)  Carl experienced a specific moment when he sensed God saying He intended Carl to be a priest.  That is so amazing.

I remember a conversation several years ago with a young friend who was finishing college and wondering about the next step.  I shared with her the comfort I take in the example of Moses, who God called into leadership when he was 80 years old.  According to Scripture Moses lived to be about 120, so 80 was two thirds into his life.  The life span of many women in my family is at least 90, so based on Moses Math I have until I am 60 to figure it out.  But (heavy sigh) I still want to know NOW.   So I will continue to ask, seek and knock.  Matthew 7:7

Today I told Carl that what I'd like is for Gandalf to invade my life and little Hobbit Hole where I sit and contentedly drink tea and read books, and drag me out the door into an adventure, one I don't even want to go on, and do things I never imagined I could, and to return home again and, over a cup of tea, look back in amazement at the places I've been.