I watched Gone With the Wind tonight with my mom and sister.
As annoying as it is to watch Ms Scarlett throw herself at any unattainable and secretly unwanted pleasure, all the while withholding herself from her heart's true desire in her own possession until it is too late, it is even more annoying to think how often we must do the same thing. God placing blessing after opportunity after calling after purpose, and we continue to chase after mere wind.
Dear Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler. (Though I'm not really writing this to you at all.)
You wouldn't know happiness if it was looking you in the face. Begging at your heels even. Or in the palm of your hand. God's given you so much. Take it! Hold on to it and make the most of it. God doesn't receive any glory when you wallow in what isn't to be. And it isn't to be. He's made that obvious. So what is? What is? Figure that out. Determine yourself for those plans. His plans. But stay clear of what isn't. Stay clear of what isn't.
Of course. Dear Melanie Wilkes says it much better in the movie. In less words. And more love in action. What a character to adore if I ever saw one. The Lord's patience can be more than puzzling.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Impersonal Charts.
protection.
protect.
to defend or guard from attack, invasion, loss, annoyance, insult, etc.; cover or shield from injury or danger.
synonyms: security, refuge, safety.
withdrawal.
withdraw.
to draw back, away or aside; take back, remove, retract, retire, retreat; to remove oneself from some activity, competition.
synonyms: disengage, quit, leave, shrink, give up.
"For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge the more grief."
And you know. Love protects.
But it also trusts. And it perseveres.
Would you be so willing? ..Would I?
protect.
to defend or guard from attack, invasion, loss, annoyance, insult, etc.; cover or shield from injury or danger.
synonyms: security, refuge, safety.
withdrawal.
withdraw.
to draw back, away or aside; take back, remove, retract, retire, retreat; to remove oneself from some activity, competition.
synonyms: disengage, quit, leave, shrink, give up.
"For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge the more grief."
And you know. Love protects.
But it also trusts. And it perseveres.
Would you be so willing? ..Would I?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Rethinking Opportunities.
If you are around kids...ever...or will be around kids...or would like to reflect on times you were with kids...or a time when you were a child...or if you were a child...or if you like kids...read this.
In a chapter called, "Working with Perception"
on building kid's perceptions of personal capabilities and personal significance.
Because Steve traveled a great deal, he went out of his way to find opportunities for his son, Michael, to do things with him when he was home. Steve's goal was to help Michael perceive himself as significant and as contributing meaningfully to what they did together. One of Steve's strategies was to ask for Michael's assistance in fixing a tractor. The tie rod had broken and required welding. Steve outfitted Michael with some leather gloves and a welding mask so he could hold the parts in alignment while Steve did the welding.
After Steve finished the welding and began to put the tools away, Michael said, "Thanks, Dad, for letting me help you fix the tractor."
Steve reflected on his statement. It was obvious that he had appreciated the opportunity, but a perceptive listener would have realized that Steve had not achieved his goal. Michael did not come to believe he had done something important for his dad; rather, he expressed his belief that his dad had done something important for him. To help him understand the importance of his role, Steve knew he needed to check out Michael's perception of the experience and then help him reevaluate.
Steve's first step was to reflect back what he had heard: "Michael, I appreciate your thanks for letting you help me fix the tractor, but what you said tells me you may not have understood that I couldn't have done it without you."
His immediate response was "Sure you could, Dad. You can do anything."
Steve had forgotten what it means to be six years old and to look at your father, who solves all the problems and fixes everything. From his point of view Steve was a potent as Superman. "Son," Steve said, "I appreciate your confidence in me, but there are some things that I just couldn't do without your help, and this was one of them."
He asked, "What do you mean, Dad?" Now he was more interested.
Steve reflected the question back: "Why do you believe I could have fixed the tractor without you?" Steve suspected the question was probably too advanced for him at age six, but how could he know what Michael was ready for if he didn't check periodically?
Steve's suspicions were correct. He had started a little high by asking Michael to analyze the situation and tell his dad what he thought. He was not defensive but expressed genuine confusion in his answer: "I don't know."
Steve followed with an easier, describe-type question.
Small children can often describe, but not interpret, and adults can then usually build an interpretation out of a description. So Steve's next question was "Well, what was it you had to do?"
He understood that question. "I had to hold the tie rod together."
Steve said, "And what was it I had to do?"
Michael said, "You had to do the welding."
Steve asked, "How many hands did it take to keep the tie rod lined up?"
He said, "Two."
"And how many hands did it take to do the welding?"
"Two."
"Well, if it takes two hands to hold the tie rod, and two hands to weld it, how many hands does it take to fix the tractor?"
Michale said, "Does math have something to do with this?"
Up until that moment, Michael believed that math was something grownups used for persecuting small children. But suddenly math had become exciting since it had something to do with fixing a tractor. Steve remained silent, waiting for him to use the perception.
Suddenly he said, "It takes four."
"Well, if it takes four hands to do the job, how many do you have?"
He said, "Two."
"How many do I have?"
"Two."
Steve said, "Could either of us have done this job alone?"
Michael said, "No way, Dad."
He was excited now and asked, "Why does the tractor keep breaking in the first place?"
Steve said, "Well, son, when I'm out doing the bush hogging and I'm driving along watching where the bush hog is going, I don't always see stumps in the grass. When the tractor hits them, sometimes they break the tie rod."
He said, "Dad, you know how it takes four hands to fix the tractor? Doesn't it take four eyes to drive it, too?"
Steve was overwhelmed with his insight. He thought for a moment and then said, "You're right, Michael."
He went on. "Well, I bet I could help you keep from breaking it just like I helped you fix it. But not if I had to sit back where you sit. I wouldn't be able to see the stumps, either."
Steve asked, "What would we have to do so you could help me?"
He said, "We would have to build a seat and put it up here on the front so I could watch for the stumps."
So they built a seat, put a little seat belt on it, and fastened it to the front of the tractor. Then as they drove along, Michael would yell, "Stump!" and Steve would go around it. In two years they haven't broken the tractor once.
When people visited the ranch, Michael would tell them very quickly, "Dad used to break the tractor all the time until I took responsibility for the stumps."
After that, Steve seldom returned home without Michael handing him a list of things that need fixing on the ranch, tasks that take two people. What he learned from the tractor experience is that "When a job takes two, I am sometimes equal to my father, and that makes me very significant."
From the book: Raising Self-Relient Children in a Self-Indulgent World by Glenn & Nelson.
In a chapter called, "Working with Perception"
on building kid's perceptions of personal capabilities and personal significance.
Because Steve traveled a great deal, he went out of his way to find opportunities for his son, Michael, to do things with him when he was home. Steve's goal was to help Michael perceive himself as significant and as contributing meaningfully to what they did together. One of Steve's strategies was to ask for Michael's assistance in fixing a tractor. The tie rod had broken and required welding. Steve outfitted Michael with some leather gloves and a welding mask so he could hold the parts in alignment while Steve did the welding.
After Steve finished the welding and began to put the tools away, Michael said, "Thanks, Dad, for letting me help you fix the tractor."
Steve reflected on his statement. It was obvious that he had appreciated the opportunity, but a perceptive listener would have realized that Steve had not achieved his goal. Michael did not come to believe he had done something important for his dad; rather, he expressed his belief that his dad had done something important for him. To help him understand the importance of his role, Steve knew he needed to check out Michael's perception of the experience and then help him reevaluate.
Steve's first step was to reflect back what he had heard: "Michael, I appreciate your thanks for letting you help me fix the tractor, but what you said tells me you may not have understood that I couldn't have done it without you."
His immediate response was "Sure you could, Dad. You can do anything."
Steve had forgotten what it means to be six years old and to look at your father, who solves all the problems and fixes everything. From his point of view Steve was a potent as Superman. "Son," Steve said, "I appreciate your confidence in me, but there are some things that I just couldn't do without your help, and this was one of them."
He asked, "What do you mean, Dad?" Now he was more interested.
Steve reflected the question back: "Why do you believe I could have fixed the tractor without you?" Steve suspected the question was probably too advanced for him at age six, but how could he know what Michael was ready for if he didn't check periodically?
Steve's suspicions were correct. He had started a little high by asking Michael to analyze the situation and tell his dad what he thought. He was not defensive but expressed genuine confusion in his answer: "I don't know."
Steve followed with an easier, describe-type question.
Small children can often describe, but not interpret, and adults can then usually build an interpretation out of a description. So Steve's next question was "Well, what was it you had to do?"
He understood that question. "I had to hold the tie rod together."
Steve said, "And what was it I had to do?"
Michael said, "You had to do the welding."
Steve asked, "How many hands did it take to keep the tie rod lined up?"
He said, "Two."
"And how many hands did it take to do the welding?"
"Two."
"Well, if it takes two hands to hold the tie rod, and two hands to weld it, how many hands does it take to fix the tractor?"
Michale said, "Does math have something to do with this?"
Up until that moment, Michael believed that math was something grownups used for persecuting small children. But suddenly math had become exciting since it had something to do with fixing a tractor. Steve remained silent, waiting for him to use the perception.
Suddenly he said, "It takes four."
"Well, if it takes four hands to do the job, how many do you have?"
He said, "Two."
"How many do I have?"
"Two."
Steve said, "Could either of us have done this job alone?"
Michael said, "No way, Dad."
He was excited now and asked, "Why does the tractor keep breaking in the first place?"
Steve said, "Well, son, when I'm out doing the bush hogging and I'm driving along watching where the bush hog is going, I don't always see stumps in the grass. When the tractor hits them, sometimes they break the tie rod."
He said, "Dad, you know how it takes four hands to fix the tractor? Doesn't it take four eyes to drive it, too?"
Steve was overwhelmed with his insight. He thought for a moment and then said, "You're right, Michael."
He went on. "Well, I bet I could help you keep from breaking it just like I helped you fix it. But not if I had to sit back where you sit. I wouldn't be able to see the stumps, either."
Steve asked, "What would we have to do so you could help me?"
He said, "We would have to build a seat and put it up here on the front so I could watch for the stumps."
So they built a seat, put a little seat belt on it, and fastened it to the front of the tractor. Then as they drove along, Michael would yell, "Stump!" and Steve would go around it. In two years they haven't broken the tractor once.
When people visited the ranch, Michael would tell them very quickly, "Dad used to break the tractor all the time until I took responsibility for the stumps."
After that, Steve seldom returned home without Michael handing him a list of things that need fixing on the ranch, tasks that take two people. What he learned from the tractor experience is that "When a job takes two, I am sometimes equal to my father, and that makes me very significant."
From the book: Raising Self-Relient Children in a Self-Indulgent World by Glenn & Nelson.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Hymn - Brooke Fraser
If to distant lands I scatter
If I sail to farthest seas
Would You find and firm and gather
'Til I only dwell in Thee
If I flee from greenest pastures
Would You leave to look for me
Forfeit glory to come after
'Til I only dwell in Thee
If my heart has one ambition
If my soul one goal to seek
This my solitary vision
'Til I only dwell in Thee
That I only dwell in Thee
'Til I only dwell in Thee
If I sail to farthest seas
Would You find and firm and gather
'Til I only dwell in Thee
If I flee from greenest pastures
Would You leave to look for me
Forfeit glory to come after
'Til I only dwell in Thee
If my heart has one ambition
If my soul one goal to seek
This my solitary vision
'Til I only dwell in Thee
That I only dwell in Thee
'Til I only dwell in Thee
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