I did a double take when I came across this picture in a Google images search for a Christmasy background for last Sunday’s projected lyrics. I wonder what reaction the artist intended. We put so much hypothesis into the Christmas scene, I might even feel refreshed by this unusual correlated visual.

On November 30, 2009, I decided for health reasons to abide by some strict dietary prohibitions: No gluten, dairy, citrus, potatoes, tomatoes, corn, onion/garlic, caffeine, chocolate, pork, shellfish, peanuts, sugar, fizzy pop, hydrogenated oil, fried food. I committed to six months. Today is the last day of that commitment. Tomorrow I’m going to eat pizza!

I’ve learned a lot about food, being so focused on what goes in my mouth. You might remember my experiment with the green smoothie. I have since perfected it and hope to make it a regular part of my diet from here on out. I’ve even become evangelistic about the benefits (you should try it!) At home it isn’t so hard to stick to my plan, but traveling is another matter. It was the ultimate test of my resolve, especially so close to the end of my six months. No one would have faulted me for fudging that date. But I was doing this for myself, and I would have faulted myself. See? Stubborn.

A full day of travel to reach my destination meant a full day of “legal” snacking on what I carried from home. I packed the Braun Turbo, wondering if it might trip me up going through security. (It didn’t going, but did returning.) At a nearby super store I bought a small cooler and my smoothie fixin’s for the road.

My hosts watched with wonder (not awe) as I beat up my spinach and fruit.

We always search out a Panera Bread when we travel, a comfortable place to hang out with free wi-fi. They have a tasty menu but nothing I could eat. I sipped on herbal tea this day, but in a different town ordered a strawberry granola parfait minus the yogurt.

Grilled chicken Caesar salad was the standard restaurant order. Minus the crouts, of course.

And this morning, on my last day, I fixed my standard breakfast of one oatmeal pancake (made with spelt flour and honey) with blueberries, pecans, and real maple syrup. As you see, I’ve hardly been suffering. Did it help, you ask? Yes and no. My chronic cough cleared up almost immediately. The chronic pain from sciatic issues continues (now have a naturopath and a chiropractor working on me). Another positive effect was some needed weight loss, which adds to my overall well-being.

The big test comes now; without a specific goal I tend to wander back to my old patterns. To prevent that, I have a plan. It looks like this. And with that I end this post and the whole topic of what I eat or don’t eat. Who really cares anyway.

Every Thursday morning I go to the local senior center because a Newberg acupuncturist offers his services to us oldies for $10 a session. I’ve grown accustomed to the routine now that I’ve been quite a few times. Being introverted, my response the first time I walked into a room circled with needled strangers was an impulse to back my way out. If I hadn’t paid first, I might have. But I swallowed, plopped myself on a vacant chair in the circle, removed my shoes/socks, and rolled up my pant legs like the others.

It’s better now. In fact, in such a captive-audience setting it’s easy to get to know folks. Not that I talk a lot. I listen, mostly to Stan and Barbara exchange stories from their past. The rest of us are welcome to add our two cents to whatever they’re talking about, but it’s much more interesting to listen. Barbara couldn’t think of the word Neanderthal, but with a description someone helped her. She wanted to ask Stan if he believes we came up out of the water or if we evolved from monkeys. They discussed, and, while they bantered with these two options, neither brought up the possibility that God had created the earth and us. Ultimately, they decided they didn’t know.

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Mauri and I have enjoyed watching Life on the Discovery Channel. It’s a worship experience, in truth. I don’t know how anyone can watch this series or any nature show for that matter and not believe in creator God. But we noticed right away that the writers and narrator Oprah Winfrey work really hard to avoid any reference to creation or God’s activity as they describe, for example, the unfathomable migration patterns of the monarch butterfly. They’d rather give “Mother Nature” all the credit.

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I read Donald Miller’s (writer of Blue Like Jazz and others) blog post on this very topic and couldn’t help linking it for you to read. Click HERE.

The pile of mail delivered when we got home from our travels included our credit card statement/bill. It showed about half of our trip charges, and I was pleased with how few service fees we incurred for the currency exchange from pounds to dollars. I was not pleased to see a $879 charge for an airline ticket from LIS to LTN, which we did not purchase. It meant reporting it as fraud, which led to the cancellation of our card.

Our new cards arrived in Saturday’s mail, so I quickly went online to update our auto-pay accounts before any of them notice we were out of commission for a while. The hardest part of this “ordeal” was relearning how to pay cash for our purchases. It is downright pathetic how spoiled I am to not have to think about whether or not I have enough money in my purse to buy something. I’m far from an extravagant spender (and we never carryover a balance), but I realized after a few credit-cardless days just how dependent I am on that piece of plastic.

Planning separation allowed me to make a daring choice—I wore JEANS to church! At my very core I know attention to what I wear to a gathering for worship lands toward the bottom of God’s importance scale. Since I abide in him and he abides in me on a continual basis, the only thing I need to think about is whether or not my wardrobe choices honor him—wherever I am. So did I dishonor him this morning? If I had sat front and center with one of the pastoral team, would the answer to that question change?

We live one block from church, so we normally walk. In that short distance we pass the homes of people whose only connection to the church in their neighborhood is a glance at or a wave from Mauri and/or me. We’ve often expressed our discomfort in what could be their perceived view of the church from noticing our “dressy” attire. Do we want our neighbors to think that going to church means they have to leave the comfort of their casual dress and find something more appropriate to wear to be accepted at church and acceptable to God?

My morning experiment proved fruitful. On my way out of the church doors I was greeted by two older women, friends of mine, who focused their attention on our conversation and not (that I could see) on my denim. In the parking lot I also met cousins Craig and Wendy as well as my dear friend Susan, who because of our close relationship would surely have said something if she felt the need. In both cases the focus remained on cheerful verbal interchange. But the best part was when my walk down the middle of School Street converged with our across-the-street neighbor getting into her car to drive off. There I could acknowledge her with a smile and a wave and walk on by in absolute comfort.

So I ask myself: Have I judged anyone for what he or she has chosen to wear to church? I confess I have. My position of judgment comes from an upbringing that taught us to give our best to God; we dressed up to honor God. It’s a tradition that had a fine basis but one that has now shifted to a higher purpose—inclusion. Would we ever want some folks to feel excluded from our worship gatherings because of an unwritten expectation of a certain clothing quality?

Some of you wear jeans or shorts to church nearly every week; others choose your color-coordinated outfit on Saturday night and make sure the wrinkles are pressed before you turn out the light for sleep. Time tends to change the importance of some ideals we hold dear for too long. I’d rather keep up with the times than to cling to values that have become worthless.

6 Non-Important things/habits/quirks about myself:

One—I’m really good at getting rid of stuff, but I can’t bring myself to part with boxes and other storage containers. I never know when I might need one that size.

Two—My mother misspelled my name on my birth certificate. I’m sure she was overwhelmed by my beauty.

Three—I’m a grammar fanatic. Whenever I learn a new rule, hearing or reading the rule broken drives me crazy. Did you know that a disease is diagnosed, not a person. So “she was diagnosed with cancer” is incorrect. Now it can drive you crazy too. Or you can just not care. Choose the latter!

Four—I gave up recreational eating and drinking (dessert, snacks, sweets, pop, gum) for an entire year—twice. It really wasn’t hard except for one thing. I literally longed for hot chocolate. On Weight Watchers I don’t get enough points to splurge on anything, but every day I enjoy the luxury of a mug of hot chocolate.

Five—I love online banking. All the time I save paying bills, I now use reading blogs.

Six—I’m lazy. I’d explain, but I don’t feel like it.

I tag Denise and Jamie.

Since Mauri wasn’t scheduled in leadership this morning, we got to sit together on the other side of the sanctuary. I found affirming the number of people who made a point to welcome him back. I found equally affirming the number of people who didn’t seem to notice his absence. Mauri brings thoughtful leadership to worship at NFC, but his only goal is to direct people’s attention toward God, never toward himself.

I’ll leave you with one final photo from his time at our beautiful Oregon coast, known for its monolith rock formations jutting from the shoreline. You’ve seen shots of the Twin Rocks. Did you notice that one has a hole in it?

Even in crosswalks, people should take caution to wait for cars to stop before they head across the street. It seems like a no-brainer to me.

So Oregon walkers are supposed to know that if the crosswalk is at a traffic-lighted intersection, they’re to follow its particular color. It’s not a suggestion. Cars have the right of way at traffic lights. But if there are lines across the crosswalk, cars will stop for them. But will cars stop for them? Not all Oregon drivers recognize those crosswalks, making them a dangerous place to cross the street. For it to be safe, all drivers in both directions need to stop. And those who are diligent crosswalk observers need to be mind readers as well. They need to be experts in body language. Is that pedestrian planning to cross or is she just watching for a friend coming down the street or looking in that store window. Hmmmm. I’d better not take a chance so I’ll stop anyway. Ah, she’s going to cross. But the car in the lane next to mine reads her differently or doesn’t see her at all and drives right on through.

As an Oregon driver, I can’t avoid crosswalks. As an Oregon walker, I’ll go out of my way to avoid them. Entrusting my flesh and bones to Oregon “safety” laws is not a good idea.

Here’s a video that illustrates a place where everyone understands and observes the safety laws.

Have a nice day! =)

Last night I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting. Saw five people I know. Signed up. Paid the money. Weighed. Painful. Stayed for orientation. Waiting till Mauri gets back from Philadelphia so we can start together. Meanwhile, eating, um, well. While I can. It’ll make the before/after more impressive. Right?

Mauri has enjoyed taking his digital SLR camera to the wildlife reserve in Sherwood, a neighboring town, to shoot birds for his growing collection. Herons, especially. He’s enjoyed watching the development of the reserve, with the addition of walkways and observation benches. Last week, as we drove past on our way in from the airport, he mentioned the new parking lot—with four prime spaces reserved for hybrids. Seven days later this information still occupies space in my mind. It bothers me for reasons more important than that I will have to walk a little farther than some others next time I want to visit the reserve.