There and Back Again: Loss and Gain

Yesterday over a cup of tea, a friend asked me about my cancer journey, told me she wanted to write about it, asked me to think about what I had learned about myself and about who God is.

I nodded.

Then she asked, "Are you at a place where you can look back on the experience and be thankful for the good that came from it rather than what you lost?"

"Well," I said, hesitating. "I think so. It's just that I continue to experience the loss in different ways."

So many of the things I wanted in life were lost as a result of cancer.

The Stories I Tell Myself

As I have gotten older, I have gotten really good at telling stories. 

To myself, that is.

Like Friday, for instance. I had been thinking about buying a Keurig coffee maker for several months now. You know, the kind that allows you to pop in a little sealed cup of coffee, pull a lever and push a button, and there's a cup of coffee? Sounds neat, right?

Balancing (or Not): Choosing the Right Weariness

For the past several months, I have often felt weary.

It's odd, really. Things are going well, my health is good, my family has been most healthy, I have a network of good friends I value, I have had opportunities to travel, my job is secure, my church is thriving.

And yet, this weariness.

The Work of a Data Analyst

For years now, when someone asks me what I do, I tell them I'm a data analyst. Sometimes, they leave it at that. But sometimes, if it's a curious person who has asked, they will want to know what a data analyst does.

Well . . .

I finally have an answer. And it's published at thehighcalling.org today. Will join me there?

There and Back Again: Small Changes

It seems like such a slight change, going to bed at 9 p.m. instead of 9:30 or 10:15. But over the past two weeks, as I have sought to give up my nights for Jesus in a Lenten bedtime fast, I have begun to see big changes in my life.

Surprisingly, I am not well-rested yet, not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as my Grandma Ruth liked to say. Part of that is a result of my fast beginning just about the time Daylight Savings Time required us to change our clocks. So, for days it felt like I was going to bed at 8, and I just couldn't go to sleep that early.

But over time, I suspect that will change as I force myself to spend 8 hours in my bed each night, sleeping or not.

The big changes I have seen, however, have been more at the heart level, have been about trust and abandon and the fact that the rules of my fast mean I can't Google at 1:30 a.m. when I wake up worried.

No Place Like Home

Ann Kroeker is writing about her experiences married to a man who grew up in another country and what she discovered about herself in the process over at thehighcalling.org. I decided to join her with a story about my first adventure overseas. It begins in the suburbs of Lisbon, Portugal . . .

The year 1997 contained several firsts for me. I ran my first half marathon, I was homeless for a month for the first time, and in July, I made my first trip overseas. With a group of about 15 from my church, we ventured to a small town just outside of Lisbon, Portugal, where we helped build a theological school with a missionary family we supported.

For two weeks, we labored on a fairly rudimentary construction site, hauling bricks, mixing mortar, and shoveling dirt. We didn't wear hard hats or protective gear other than sturdy shoes. I learned to build walls during that trip.I also learned to tear down walls that weren't built correctly.

On the weekends, we visited castles and beaches, shopped at markets, and road the bus to festivals. At night, I drug the mattress from my bunk bed out on the balcony of the guest house, and slept under the stars. I never wanted to leave.

Survey says . . . . Notes from a Nielsen Family

If you are a television watcher --and statistics say that if you are an American, you spend about 20 percent of your day doing so -- but you feel like there's never anything good on TV, you might have me to blame for that.

If the advertisements that interrupt your favorite shows seems decidedly geared toward middle-aged, females, then you wouldn't be out of line to point a finger in my direction there, either.

I am one of America's Nielsen families.

A New Mixer: Learning from My Mistakes

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about helping my sister make truffles and how in a moment of zealousness, I pushed my hand mixer over the edge by trying to whip four batches of cream cheese at once. Of course, things like that don't happen in a vacuum, and as I watched my mixer go up in smoke, it was obviously a picture of my life.

Overloaded and burnt out.

But over the past few months, since my New Year's ritual of giving the year 2011 the name "empty," I have been trying to sort through closets, pare down schedules, and examine my heart to find my way to a life that is creative and productive and glorifying to Jesus without keeping me on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

And slowly, choice by choice, I might be getting there. I realized it two Saturdays ago over a second episode of making truffles.

There and Back Again: Again . . . Again

For one more week of "There and Back Again," I am going there and back again, again. I am stopping on this network journey to retrace my steps, to repave these in-roads I have made with other bloggers. To commend them to you again.

Next week, I will go again and find an idea to write about deeply.

For now, some thoughts we might all want to consider . . .

Taking Back the Night: Alone

Though I am single, I spend a lot of time with people every day.

I work at a company of about 130 employees; I sit in a cubicle, but I run into people at meetings, in the lunch room, even in the bathroom. I am with people everywhere I go.

When I go to the gym after work, I exercise next to people, though they are strangers. I shop in crowded grocery stores. I drive on streets surrounded by other people speeding by in their cars.

In the evenings, I go to meetings at my church or to dinners with my friends. Often I invite people to my home or meet them at Starbucks for coffee. On the weekends, I visit family or go to movies with friends.

But at night, when I change into pajamas and brush my teeth, when I pull down the covers and fluff the pillows, when I kick off my slippers and swing my legs around, at night when I go to bed, I am always alone.

As I finish the first week of my nighttime fast, the ritual of bedtime is slowly becoming a habit. I have had to leave social gatherings early; I have had to hurry my puppy, Tilly, along in her final visit to the back yard; and I have even had to put down a book right in the middle of a chapter. These are changes, to be sure, but I am growing accustomed to them.

What has been the most difficult part of an early bedtime, however, is the daily reminder that when I crawl into bed, I am alone.

Man Does Not Live by {Making} Bread Alone

A few years ago, I heard a broadcast on National Public Radio about artisan bread anyone could make in just five minutes a day. The process involved just four ingredients, a little mixing, almost no kneading, and a great deal of waiting. The chef behind the idea had written a book which explained the process in more detail and provided recipes for using the dough in pastries and breads of all shapes and sizes. But the basic recipe itself was offered for free.

Disbelieving, I decided to give it a try.

After the initial combining of ingredients, there was a five hour wait. Then, after refrigerating the dough overnight, there was a smaller wait of about 40 minutes so the dough could rest. And then, there was the 30 minutes of baking. Finally, the bread cooled and the waiting was over. 

Out of the oven came a round loaf of bread with a crisp, firm crust and a soft, pocketed body. I thought it was delicious, possibly the answer to all my problems. I imagined having fresh baguettes every day.

Then, I remembered that I don't do "every day" very well, and the left over bread didn't heat up in the toaster like I'd hoped. Plus, all that waiting made the claim of "artisan bread in five minutes a day" seem a little bit like false advertising.

I had asked too much from a loaf of bread.

Taking Back the Night: 9:03 p.m. on Ash Wednesday

On Ash Wednesday, I went to bed at 9:03.

Back in February I decided that for Lent, I would give up the hours between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m. and would just go to bed and stay there, no reading, no television, no web surfing. For weeks, I had been anticipating this fast from night time, the witching hour in which I watch too much television or write the final few emails of the day rather than retire to my room for sleep.

Several nights before, I had been "practicing" going to bed early, at least leaving the living room and physically moving in the direction of bed by 9 or 9:30. And I had been trying to get up earlier, making time for reading or writing or just breakfast before running off to work.

So on the day Lent began, I was pleasantly surprised when my puppy, Tilly, woke me up just before 5 a.m., and that Bible study ended that night by 8:35 p.m. I arrived home at 8:50 p.m., just enough time to say "hello" to my sister, let Tilly out one last time, and get into my pajamas.

By 9:03 p.m. on Ash Wednesday, I was in bed.

There and Back Again: Again

For the next two weeks for "There and Back Again," I am going there and back again, again. I am stopping on this network journey to retrace my steps, to repave these in-roads I have made with other bloggers. To commend them to you again.

In two weeks, I will go again and find an idea to write about deeply.

For now, some thoughts we might all want to consider.

re::LENT::less

It's Ash Wednesday again, and before 10 a.m. I already had eaten a Three Musketeer Bar. But I'm not giving up chocolate for Lent, so that's ok. Right?

For the next seven weeks, I'll go on eating meat on Fridays, I will probably slip up and sing an Alleluia on Sundays, and the fast I have chosen, to give up the hours between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m., seems self-indulgent to most. In fact, when I tell people what I that I am going to bed on time for Lent, they look at me like, "I wish!" It would be no sacrifice for them.

I'm not very good at Lent.

Load Limits, Bed Times, and Burnt Out Mixers

I'd like to say it was my sister's fault.

I was using the mixer to help, just a bit, with the homemade truffles she was making, after all. But it wasn't her idea to make the four batches all at once. I had suggested it. And it wasn't her idea to keep mixing and mixing. She's the one that first noticed the smoke smell.

More THINK|11 - LIVE Twitter Feed Here

Several THINK|11 attenders are tweeting throughout the weekend using #think11. For those who don't have a Twitter account, here is a live feed so that you can follow all of Dr. D A Carson's messages.

Also, visit the College Park Church THINK|Online for blog posts throughout the weekend by my friend, Baher Malek.

If all else fails, buy Dr. Carson's book, Scandalous.

THINK|11 - How I Am Forgiven

This weekend, Dr. Donald A Carson from Trinity Theological Seminary will be speaking at my church for Think|11 - Does It Matter How I Am Forgiven? Dr. Carson will be addressing the importance and relevance of the death and resurrection of Jesus. No better way to begin the Lenten season than reflecting on these truths!

I am going to try my hand at micro-blogging live throughout the event over on Twitter. Join me there throughout the weekend or search on hash tag #THINK11 and see what others are saying as well.

When the weekend is over, I will post back here to share the amazing truths of Jesus' sacrifice. 

If you live in the Indianapolis area, the conference itself is at capacity, but you can hear Dr. Carson speak on Sunday morning at College Park Church at 8, 9:40, or 11:20.

There and Back Again: Spring?

There are early signs of Spring emerging in the back yard. The days have been a little warmer, a few trees and bushes have begun to push out their first buds, and patches of grass are growing greener. There is hope out there!

But inside, in my heart and spirit, the long days of winter continue on. Coldness and darkness inhibit me, the bare trees make me unproductive, and the icy hardness leaves me lifeless. I need hope in here.

I have hope - the long hope that says in the end, Jesus wins. I know that hope and cling to it, even in the winter. But the short hope, the hope that looks to this day and says it will be good, has been in short supply.

Two Views Beyond the Fence

Upon having a taste of the yard just beyond the gate, Tilly is no longer satisfied with her small, fenced in area of green space.

She wants more.