beyond the pale

Well, I’ve meandered quite far enough down Memory Lane this week with no bread crumb trail to find my way back. That’s all right. It’s given me time to survey the landscape ’round here and it’s … striking and not entirely uniform. There are bright spots and dark patches; lush, glittering greenery and parched, dusty desserts; teasing little critters and snarling, unseen beasts. I imagine your Memory Lane is similarly landscaped.

The Anchoress has got me in a bright spot right now, remembering teachers who read to me in grade school. Hers was a fourth grade teacher; mine was, too — my beloved Mrs. McGinty. She had a quavery voice, but it was strong and clear and I loved to hear her read. During reading time, with my head down on my desk, I felt safe and transported. Above all, I was certain she was reading just for me. And oh, those books! “Charlotte’s Web,” “Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle,” “From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler,” short stories by Kipling, and on and on and on.

I remember especially, for months after Mrs. McGinty read “From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler,” I dreamed about living in a museum with my brother, hiding in the bathroom stalls to avoid detection, sleeping in those perfect displays, doing everything a good little girl like me would never have done.

So I’m wondering …. did you have teachers who read to you? And what books read aloud to you left a lasting impression?

One Year Ago:

Hm. Well, the meme has morphed into a tell-all. I realize now that I’m really not honest on this blog much at all. (And I’m sure that’s for the best for everyone concerned. The notion of “worship naked” is an ideal, after all, not my reality!)

But in the spirit of the tell-all, there’s this: One year ago I lost my job — a job I was great at (she says immodestly), and should never have lost (she says frankly), were it not for an certain ambitious old woman more adept at politics than I (she says bitterly), but less bitterly, actually, than a year ago. I have never, ever mentioned it on this blog before. My family would be proud. You could pray for me, if you feel so led. I’ve been a bit paralyzed — which is an understatement, but that’s all I’ll say on that.

On to other things …..

One Day Ago:

— I made Mocha Chip Cupcakes with Mocha Buttercream Frosting. They are simply divine. I’m telling you. When that glorious day comes and we’re gathered ’round for the great feast with Jesus, we will get neither full nor fat. We will get neither heartburn nor gas. We will just get more, MORE, MORE OF EVERYTHING! And when you pipe up from your comfy, gilded chair and burp and say, “What’s for dessert, Lord?” He will say, with booming high and holy spirits, “WELL, TRACEY’S MOCHA CHIP CUPCAKES, NATURALLY! THEY ARE SIMPLY DIVINE!!”

One Hour Ago:

— I was talking with Sister-in-Law, mother to 18-month-old niece, Button Baby. She called to tell me that Button Baby had inhaled half of a Divine Cupcake yesterday and apparently woke up in her crib this morning crowing, “Tee Tee! Cu-cake! Cu-caaaakke!!” Oops. I fear it’s the caffeine.

Five Favorite Snacks:

Red Vines
Hot Tamales
Apples
Those darn Junior Caramels — anything chocolate is dangerous
Cheetos — stay away from me, Cheetos! You cheesy devils!

Five Songs I Know the Words to:

Well, I know the words to a LOT of songs, really. Okay. That’s a cop-out. I’ll tell you one:

In college, this big galoot named Michael was desperately, obsessively in love with me. We were in the theatre department together and, frankly, he was the worst actor I had ever seen. That is uncharitable, I know. It’s also true. No matter what the role, he SPOKE IN A BOOMING VOICE, LIKE THIS, AS IF TO RAISE THE DEAD AND FRIGHTEN CHILDREN! When you spoke to him offstage, he acted British. He was not; he was from Yakima. He was very tall, 6-5, and rather doughy and I was frightened by the very sight of his thunderous thighs in his perpetually too-tight pants. He was a vexing, pompous person, certain that he was the World’s Greatest Actor, with absolutely no evidence to prove it.

Apparently, in my junior year, he decided he was in love with me. I guess that all my ignoring and near outright contempt had finally won him over. At first, his love for me made him giddy and messy and he was far too large to be either giddy or messy. Later on, he was simply everywhere I was. If I got anywhere near him, he deemed it permission to standpracticallyontopofmeandstaredownintomyeyes. I’ve never known a fellow so thoroughly convinced of the Mesmerizing Power of his Gaze. And so thoroughly deluded. It was downright creepy.

One day, I walked into the theatre for rehearsal, and there he was, seated at the grand piano, plinking around on the keys. I turned to leave, hoping he hadn’t seen me, when I heard him boom in his awful, hybrid British accent:

“Ah, Tracey. Thaaayyre you ahhrrr!”

Ugh.

Ignoring the stomach churning, I tried to sound breezy.

“Oh, hi, Michael.”

“Come ovahhh herrre. I wahhnt to play something for you.”

“Oh, well, really, I —”

He started to scowl at me and I was a little scared when he scowled and we were alone and I didn’t know what to do. I approached only a little closer, hesitant. But I was sure my legs could outrun those thighs, if need be. I sighed.

“Okay, Michael, what is it?”

Turns out, it was a song he had written.

For ME.

With lyrics.

That went like this:

“Why can’t it be the way that I want it to beeeeeee?

Godddddddd!!!!

I WANNA DIE RIGHT NOW

DIE RIGHT NOW

DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

As he pounded the last, dreadful minor chord, I stared at him from a distance, AGHAST. He stared back at me with — I don’t know what. I think he was going for naked DESIRE, but he just looked as if he were swept away by the smell of garbage. But in that moment, I finally felt a kinship with this menacing, soppy weirdo, because more than anything, ANYTHING I just wanted to

DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Instead, though, I looked at him and blurted, “I gotta go to the bathroom” as I sprinted out of the room.

So I know the words to THAT song. Oh, yes.

What I would do with 5 Millon Dollars:
Put some money in trust for my nephews and nieces.

At least a million dollars to my father who, for 20 years, has spent so much money trying to find out what’s wrong with my mother.

I’d start a fund for childless Christians who’d like to adopt but find it cost prohibitive.

And, oh, My Beloved — anything he wants. But as an architecture buff, he’d want to have that house built — the one in his head.

5 Places I would escape to for a while:
That ranch in Hamilton, Montana where we saw the moose and her baby and deer grazed in the meadow — our backyard — every evening
I’d like to go to Ireland
And Wales — I’m Welsh
I’d love to go to Florence
I’d love to go to Jerusalem

5 Things I would not wear:

I don’t really do dresses — skirts, either.

I don’t like those thong sandals — that whole toe floss thing just shivers me timbers.

I can’t stand those GIANT hoop earrings.

I don’t wear fingernail polish, however, I do sometimes wear toenail polish. But if I splotch it between my toes, it stays!! (Shivvvvvvver)

Any kind of nose ring or eyebrow ring or belly button ring or … you get the drift.

5 Favorite TV Programs:
Seinfeld Reruns
Lost
I do like 24
I like the History Channel
And something else, I’m sure

5 Greatest Joys
Saving grace
My Beloved
My nephews/nieces
Singing
Writing

5 Favorite Toys:

Laptop
Ipod
Books
My trampoline
My coffee grinder

5 People I will tag to play…

WordGirl
Rev-Ed
Itsara
Prof. Steve
Anita P.

All right. I think I’m done. Well, there was more to the meme at The Anchoress, but I’m not sure if I was supposed to do the rest. So you see which choice I’m making.

UPDATE: Hey, if I tagged you, please know, there is NO pressure. With my deplorable track record on memes like these, I’ve certainly no right to expect completion from ANYONE else! ;-0

A question:

Your pastor gets a new car. It’s an expensive, flashy car. Does this bother you?

My sister and I were having this discussion recently because this exact scenario is happening at her church. She mentioned that as someone who tithes to her church, she felt uncomfortable seeing him in this new car; it seemed inappropriate, both to “his station and his age,” were her words.

“On the other hand,” said she, “I don’t want to judge him, but I guess I am.”

Now, my sister’s church is a medium-sized church with 800-1000 people, so one assumes an accompanying medium-sized tithe base. (Well, medium-ish when you consider she used to attend Saddleback — Rick Warren’s church — which has an attendance of about 15,000.)

“So what do you expect him to drive?” I asked my sister.

“Well, I don’t expect him to drive a heap, but something more modest, I guess. Seems a bit showy to me.”

“But is he allowed to do what he wants with his salary?”

“Well, I guess I question the whole financial stewardship of it. Could the tithing that makes his salary be better spent?”

Hm. I don’t know the answer to this and is it even my job to know it?

So at what point does Luther become Liberace, suffering from a severe case of ostentasia? And what do we expect? Is this all just opinion? Or should a pastor be mindful of this when purchasing a new car? “Showiness” is a subjective notion, after all, so one person’s ostentasia may be another person’s normal.

And is it really any of our business?

Any thoughts?

Well, I’ve gone and done it now.

My Beloved has this wee little fellow who works for him. At my height of five-four, I tower above him like a shade tree. My Beloved, though, fairly menaces at six-three, and I reckon the poor little fellow has never even seen his face. He jumps and scurries, head down, whenever My Beloved speaks to him, which I find hysterical. Really, though, I do wish he’d stop because I don’t do that and the wee’un’s making me look bad.

He’s a lovely lad, really; he’s simply bite-sized, a hobbit. In fact, whenever we mention him in private, we call him Frodo. It’s a good-natured homage, really. At least, I think it is.

Now before you scold me, admit it. You have names like this, too. I know you do. We ALL do. In private. With our husbands. Our wives. Our families. Our friends. It’s a little verbal shorthand. A curious kind of bond. A secret, silly kinship.

We have a favorite barista at our favorite coffee house who we call Princess Glumsby. We don’t know her real name, as she stubbornly eschews the name tag, but she never cracks a smile, never loses her Eeyore gloom and doom, and never fails to make the perfect latte. She’s Princess Glumsby, The Deliciously Competent, and we love her.

But back to Frodo.

Today, I went to help out at My Beloved’s office as he prepares to do some major reorganization ’round there. Frodo was there, working quietly, because he is always quiet. I was vacuuming, moving from room to room, when I stopped and called out to My Beloved:

“Do you want me to do Frodo’s area, too?”

Oh.

Lord.

I had said it. OUT LOUD. In front of Frodo himself.

OH.

LORD.

My world went slow-motion. In my mind’s eye, I imagined my hand shooting out, too slowly, trying to snatch the words from the air and stuff them back into my stupid, STUPID mouth.

But there they were, hanging, dumbing down the very air around me.

Frodo was head down, still quiet, still appearing, at least, very busy. I couldn’t tell if the word had registered with him. I could tell, however, that it had registered with My Beloved. Oh, yes. His head snapped towards me, almost audibly, and his eyes were huge and blue and shocked. His lips were pursed together so tightly they became nothing but a thin, red line. For a split second, we stood still, frozen by my blast of idiocy. We simply stared at each other, our expressions mirror images.

Trying to cover, I babbled something. DO NOT ask me what it was; I’ve repressed it. Well, I do have vaguest twinge that I began to pretend oh-so-nonchalantly that I was talking about “The Lord of the Rings,” which I nearly never talk about. My Beloved’s eyebrows were getting a workout: up-down-up-down-up-down. Finally, they just stayed down and I shut up. Red-faced with the horror of it all, I wheeled the vacuum away, without a word, with nary a backwards glance at the silent, hunched-over hobbit.

Later, when Frodo left for lunch, I whirled on My Beloved.

“All right. You HAVE to fire him!”

“I do?” He was unmoved by my good sense solution.

“Yes!” I hissed.

“Why?”

“Well, you heard what I said!” I was desperate. What was wrong with him?

“Yes, I did. So you want me to fire him because YOU created a socially awkward situation?”

“YES!” I wailed. At least the boy was finally getting it.

He laughed, opened his arms, and wrapped me in his snug, gently shaking embrace. My hair grew warm with the breath of his chuckles. Then he said the thing we always say when one of us is being stupid or irrational or annoying or all of them at once:

“Oh, honey. Good thing you’re pretty.”

Aww, Lurch.

I got something bizarre in my email this morning. A woman at my church runs a women’s group that I attended once and vowed never to attend again, for various reasons including the fact that it’s espousing some vague, watery, New-Agey philosophies about God. I found myself unable to understand the spiritual floatiness of what was taught there or prayed there or even mentioned in general conversation there. It sounded just like the letter in my email this morning.

Now, I’m still on the group’s mailing list and I allow myself to stay on the mailing list because I’m curious, frankly, to know what’s going on. So the group leader sent out a small note that included an exhortation to pray in the aftermath of the disaster, with which I wholeheartedly agree …. and also this handy-dandy PROPHECY and prayer model, with which I have some teensy, niggling problems.

So I’m posting the prophecy and prayer model section of her note and “bolding” all the sections that I find incomprehensible or maddening.

You may either try to explain them to me or you may try to calm me down. You must choose, because I don’t think you can do both.

I’m not including her note, just the main body. It’s written by someone named Chuck D. Pierce. I’m not familiar with him and I really don’t feel deprived on that score.

Ready? Here we go:

“September 2, 2005

Dear Friends:

We must pray and intercede on behalf of those traumatized along the Gulf Coast areas. We are entering into a level of warfare in the earth that is beyond our present mindset and paradigm. In these seven years of war, God has been preparing us for what is ahead. We are ending the fourth year and approaching the fifth year. (Um, WHAT?) We need supernatural grace to deal with lawless structures in days ahead. I want to be real honest, when I wrote The Future War of the Church explaining the anti-Christ system and lawlessness, many criticized and scoffed at the concept of the level of warfare that we would be encountering in days ahead.

Please, please prepare yourself for these next three years. Use the prayer points below to begin to engage spiritual forces in ways that we have never understood in the past. The following prophetic word is from the revelation that came forth on August 12 in our FirstFruits Gathering built around covenant alignment:

To the United States of America… “Know that today this nation is being realigned. Get ready, for refuge cities will begin to arise throughout this land. They will begin to rise up from state to state to state all along the East coast, all along the Gulf, and all along the West coast. I am raising up refuge cities.

Florida is resisting the development of My plan, (DAMN those stubborn, toothless blue hairs!) but I will cause a strong remnant to arise in this state. I AM even beginning to train those in cities that will know how to move forward. Many of you have wondered: ‘Why am I not involved here or there – why do I seem to be shelved?’ (I, myself, have not wondered this. ) I will begin to assign you to be a part of those groups that will aid My next move in the earth. This will come because of great shakings, floods and disease structures that are forming. I AM assigning you now to spread My Good News. I AM developing ears to hear My grace. There is a shifting now of compassion and mercy, for I need My healers to be ready to be released throughout the land.”

To those in law enforcement and public authority… “Lawlessness is beginning to rise and escalate. Many of you who have prayed will become discouraged as you see statistics change. Lift up your heads. This is the beginning of dividing and exposing the real source of covenant breaking and violence that is seething in this land. I will give you strategies over how to defeat major lawless structures. These strategies are but temporary measures, so remain on alert from this day forward.”

1. Ask God to teach you about lawlessness.
2. Ask the Lord to build a shield of faith around you.
3. Ask the Lord to have you be more responsive to prophecy. (I assume he’s referring to modern-day “prophecies” such as this one. Well, I’m responsive. “!?@%!!” is a response.) In 2004, the word given in Baton Rouge was on purification coming to New Orleans.) (Soooo …. New Orleans is officially “purified,” I guess. Who wants to tell ’em? And, really, meow, Baton Rouge.)
4. Don’t lean on your own understanding. We are entering into a supernatural dimension. (Or a rilllly weird area.)
5. Bind the accuser (Where do we get the idea that WE can bind anything?) who is working in the earth realm to bring division in the midst of crisis.
6. Begin to set a blood-line barrier at the 150 mile radius around the victimized area. How do you do that? (Wait. What the heck IS that? It sounds positively grim. Will Geraldo be reporting from there?) You get up and decree by the Spirit of God (So WE get to decree?! Well, I did not know this, but apparently, “I’m the King of the World!” And you are, too. Ta-da!) that there is a supernatural shield set so that the enemy’s plan cannot invade that barrier. Cry out for angelic forces to visit individuals that are crying out in these areas. (Yes, just read the Bible. Angelic visitations are ALWAYS soothing.) Ask for angels to HELP in this structure of lawlessness that is operating in this part of the earth.
7. Pray for those that are serving as refuge cities– Houston, Baton Rouge, and others.
8. In the midst of trauma, always let God show you areas in our lives that can be purified. Bind condemnation (again, the binding thing) and ask God to purify us where we have been weak in the past. In intercession, what you identify … purify. Ask God to purify areas where we have allowed the enemy to take control.
9. Pray for supernatural, unexplained healings to start occurring in individuals. (For what purpose? So we can say to the people, “Huh. I don’t know HOW you got healed. It’s ‘unexplained.'” I mean, wouldn’t we want to be able to point to the Lord as the source?)
10. Ask for the Holy Spirit to invade this situation.

Here is another portion of the prophetic word that came forward in our August FirstFruits Gathering on covenant:

To the CHURCH … “I will reverse cessation thinking. Many have held onto a dead religion. Let go of old religious patterns and embrace My resurrection and power. The wind of My power will begin to blow and it will not be able to be explained.

There will be a desire for My Spirit. Those that do not repent of a religion that denies My Spirit in the earth will not embrace My covenant plan or people in the future. I have chosen Israel as the deciding factor in the earth. Those who do not acknowledge Israel’s place in the earth will not understand the place that I have prepared for them in days ahead.”

Blessings,

Chuck D. Pierce”

All right. I’m sure I’ve missed some spots that I could “bold.” Looking at it again, I could “bold” nearly the whole darn thing.

Anyone want to take a stab at it here? Remember, you may either calm or explain.

Yes, we need to pray, without ceasing, really. We need the Holy Spirit’s wisdom now more than ever. We need the church to be the church to the scattered, hurting masses. But these other phrases? These other things? WHAT are they? Do the people who say and believe these things even know what they’re saying and believing? I don’t find these notions taught in the Bible, but they do sound airily appealing; they speak to our desire for personal power — ” I decree” “I bind” — which is in direct opposition to biblical teaching. We’re to clothe ourselves with “compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience,” says Colossians 3, not a “blood-line barrier.”

I read the letter to My Beloved and his comment was this:

“It makes me think of children who believe there are monsters in the closet. But at least they’re children.”

All I know is, golly, I live well beyond this 150-mile, blood-line barrier. So do many of the victims now. Perhaps you do, too.

Well, we’re cheesed, I guess.

And if you’re in Florida, He’s really mad at you.

Resistance is futile, Gammie; He’s comin’ for ya.

Take some time to read and ponder this piece by Bill Whittle.

And this heartfelt piece from WordGirl.

And this tale of selflessness and heroism from The Oregonian.

My (very-pregnant) blog pal Amanda Sue from Upheaval has this very encouraging, first-hand account of the goings-on at the local evacuation center in her hometown of Nacogdoches, TX.

“Daniel was working security at our local evacuee center, which is currently housing about 70 Louisiana residents. I dropped by to see him a few minutes ago, and this is what I saw …”

Well, I don’t want to give it away; go on over and read!

Oh, and here’s something to bring a smile to your face. Scroll down a wee bit and see the picture of her adorably pregnant self. (She’s due Sept. 9, I believe, so wish her the best.) A tiny bit of life and joy in the midst of so much sorrow.

There’s this. Houston-based blogger Christine over at Big Pink Cookie is collecting knitted goods for the youngest victims of Katrina — baby booties, blankets, sweaters, etc. I think it’s a lovely idea and one way for people to feel they’re doing something tangible. And I think that’s a natural human impulse we have at moments like this. Donating money online or over the phone, while so vital , can seem a bit sterile and cold when so many hands are longing to touch, reach out, hold a hand, wipe a tear. Why else would so many voluntarily open their homes to strangers? I think it’s for that very sense of tangibility, for being able to say, “I give this to you with my own hands.”

So if you can knit or crochet — and I know I have a least one reader VERY talented in this area — pop on over to her site for the details and consider using your gifts to wrap the littlest homeless ones in some homemade love and warmth.

Something you can give with your very own hands.