The World of Dragonfly

Have you ever had an experience in your life-call it a setback-that you found difficult to work through?  Most people have.  After all, if you live long enough, adversity does show up in your life.  Well, I want to share mine, not just to discuss my life but also to encourage you if you’re going through a challenge in your life as well.  So let me set the stage for you.

It all began almost five years ago.  When we lived at our old house, there was a hook for hanging plants between the garage and porch.  It was a spring day.  I’d potted a nice hanging basket of petunias and was stretching way out to hang it on the hook (rather than breaking down and finding a stool).  Pain seared my middle, and I found I had to sit down on the steps and wrap my arms around my stomach.  I knew I’d probably torn a muscle.  I just didn’t realize how badly.  Gradually, it dissipated, and I went on about my business, including exercising.

Fast forward four years or so to 2009.  It’d been a busy summer.  Moving.  Training hard for triathlons.  I’d completed two that summer and was in probably the best shape of my life.  Until December when I decided to do crunches on an exercise ball at the gym.  Well, the next thing I knew, I had pain in my middle.  Thinking it was something like a gall bladder attack, I went to the doctor.  The PA recommended an ultrasound, which showed that nothing was wrong.  ”So what do you think it is?” I asked.  She thought it was a muscle tear and recommended that I simply let it rest.

I did.  Yet the tenderness never really went away.  Each time I worked out, it flared until one hot day in June this past year, I actually had to stop cycling to let what I thought was a stitch in my side subside.  The one triathlon I completed was awful.  Finally, I returned to the doctor, who asked a myriad of questions.  Then it happened.  He admitted I’d stumped him and sent me to physical therapy.

I must say that physical therapy was one of the best things that happened to me last summer.  It didn’t take long for B (yes, that’s what he told me to call him) to diagnose that I’d suffered from a torn hip flexor muscle.  It’s the muscle that starts at the top of the thigh.  It wraps around the core and splits, with part of it attaching to the inner back part of the pelvis and the other part wrapping further around the core and attaching to the spine.  My leaning several years before had torn it, and scar tissue had formed.  My exercising had inflamed it.

Unfortunately, while in therapy, I couldn’t exercise.  It didn’t help that last summer was extremely stressful.  I have to admit I was a basket who went completely out of shape and gained weight in the process.  When I received the go-ahead from B to begin exercising, I was ecstatic.

So why am I writing about this?  I want to set the stage for what I hope will be a way to trace my comeback to physical fitness and ultimately (I hope) to running an Olympic distance triathlon in September.  I’ll periodically update everyone here.  God willing, I truly will accomplish that goal.  I hope tracing my experiences will also serve as a source of encouragement as well.  Stay tuned for the next installment.

Last Wednesday started out like any other normal day.  I had a hard time waking up.  Then I dressed and had breakfast while Steve took the dogs for a walk before we carpooled to work.  As I took my vitamins and got my lunch ready, the phone rang.  And it was Steve.  ”Go and get a washcloth,” he told me.  The strain was evident in his voice.  Then he announced, “Wallace has rolled in something really smelly.”

You see, we have two dogs.  Two basenjis, to be exact.  They’re African dogs from the Congo, and quite frankly, not too far displaced from the jungle.  And they’re hunters who use both eyes and ears to smell prey.  Aspen is our female, and Wallace is our male.

Now, each has a different set of preferred smells.  Aspen, the princess of the family, prefers good smells like Dove soap, body splash, and shampoo.  She loves to be clean, and I think her favorite time is right after a bath.  Wallace, on the other hand, has his own idea of what smells good, stuff like fox pee, fox poo, and stinky, smelly towels.  He hates to get baths and will do everything in his power to destroy that good smelling aroma as soon as he can.

So last Wednesday, that fateful day, I knew immediately what had happened.  Wallace had rolled in something.  I just didn’t know the extent of it until the door opened, and in came two basenjis, one with a contrite expression, and one with an expression of great satisfaction.  Yes, Wallace had scored again, and not only had he gotten a basket, he’d gotten one from deep in three-point land.  Poo coated his neck, and even from ten or so feet away, I could smell it.  Yes, he’d successfully rolled in fox poo.

For the next five or so minutes, grumbling emanated from Steve as he used the washcloth to wipe off the poo.  Then he went about the business of getting ready so he and I could carpool to work.  Wallace slipped away and ran upstairs.  When I hadn’t seen Wallace for awhile, I went looking for him.  Lo and behold, I found him in what he now considers to be “his” room, sitting on the bed in the smaller guest room in what only could be described as a sloppy sit.  When he saw me, he promptly rolled over for a belly rub.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?!” I screeched.  ”Get down from there!”  For those of you who have watched A Christmas Story, picture Ralphie’s mom yelling at him.

Wallace escaped for only a few more hours because that night, he got his second bath in two days.  Do you think he learned that being stinky isn’t worth it?  Absolutely not.  I’ll be waiting for the next poo incident.  Probably with washcloth in hand.  Again.

Ladies,

Picture this scenario.  You’re a young woman, perhaps in your twenties or thirties.  Maybe married.  And maybe with children.  You’re dining with either one or both of your parents in your hometown.  You’re munching on our salad when along comes one of your parents’ friends.  Almost immediately, your mother and/or father starts bragging on you, about your career, your parenting, your children, your talents… pick your topic.  Is your reaction to blush, smile, and say “thank you”, or is it to roll your eyes and say, “Mom, Dad, really.  I’m not nearly as perfect as you’re purporting me to be!”

I think a lot of us women approach the Proverbs 31 Woman in the latter manner (see Proverbs 31:10-31).  I know I used to.  Like, how on earth could I do the following:

• Do good and not harm to my husband not just today but all the days of my life? (v. 12)
• Seek wool and flax [maybe in today's terms make wise shopping decisions]? (v. 13a)
• Work with my hands willingly [like sew clothes.  Really?] (v. 13b)
• Rise before dawn and provide food not only for my husband and wife but kids, not to mention the hired help? {v.13)
• Consider a field and buy it (make big purchases without husbandly input?)? (v. 16a)
• Work late into the night (and does this coincide with the early rising mentioned above)? (v. 18b)
• Make her own bed linens and clothing for her family? (v. 22)

Are you tired yet?  I could go on with many, many other examples, but they’re listed right there in Proverbs 31:10-31.  Me?  Usually, I’d groan and flip to another, more encouraging passage, with a resigned sigh as I admitted that no way on earth would I ever amount to anything if I kept comparing myself to the Proverbs 31 woman.

Then came last Tuesday.  You see, I meet with some women of my church for a Bible study each Tuesday night.  This year, we’re studying women in the Bible and have so far handled real women like Esther, Ruth, Sarah, and Rahab.  Then came the fictitious Proverbs 31 Woman.  I approached this chapter with a fair amount of trepidation, especially since I’d tripped myself up and because I thought I’d left the book at work so I couldn’t read the passage (long story there).

When we started discussing the passage, our leader for last week mentioned how she’d heard a different take on this passage.  One of an image where God is bragging on His daughters.  See what they can do?  How they serve their families tirelessly?  How her husband views her as his equal and trusts her in both large and small decision?  How she’s so talented?  Doesn’t that sound like how our own parents brag on us to their friends?

I thought about that for awhile.  And to be honest, it was freeing.  No longer did I have to measure myself against a woman who I viewed as perfect.  Instead, I began seeing myself as a woman who has weaknesses just like every other woman.  But also as a woman who has many talents and strengths.  Talents and strengths that those who love us like to brag on.

So, as you ladies read Proverbs 31, remember one thing.  You are loved by God.  You are His daughter, and He loves to brag on His daughters just as much as His sons.

**Many thanks to Terry for her kind words and a new take on the Proverbs 31 Woman.

10.  Take it easy after not working out after awhile, especially after being sick.  No point in running 4 miles if you can barely do 2.5.

9.  Advil is good, especially after running.

8.  Chocolate milk is even better.

7.  Eating right and getting enough sleep are equally as important.

6.  Beware of goose gangs if running, especially when fields are nearby.

5.  It’s fun to be in pain (usually).  It’s even more fun when you’re done and see how much you’ve accomplished.

4.  The best part of a workout is the shower afterwards.

3.  Chocolate milk is really yummy.

2.  Working out encourages great sleep.

1.  Have fun!  Working out should indeed be fun, so pick an activity that’s enjoyable.

Spring is a beautiful time where I live.  The grass is green.  The flowers are out.  The temperatures are moderate.  And the geese are plentiful.  If you’re a Canadian goose, why spend all of your life and energy flapping your wings in a desperate attempt to get from place to place when you can winter over in a place such as North Carolina?  Raleigh is filled with them, and they leave plenty of evidence behind such as goose poo.

Now, nesting time is upon us.  There’s a nest across the major road from where we live.  And where there’s nests, there’s geese.  Now, I’m not sure if the goose I encountered tonight was the dad/mom belonging to said nest.  All I know is that the pups and I were coming back from a long, long walk.  We were tired, hungry, and simply wanting to get back before it was too dark.

Until we met The Goose.

Now, The Goose was sitting in the utility strip between the road and the sidewalk as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  Problem was, The Goose was essentially blocking our way.  There wasn’t a good way around him.  It was either go out into the street where we’d get hit or way into the grass, which was wet from a recent storm.

The Goose saw us.  Stood up.  Started sticking his tongue out, hissing at us, and bobbing his head up and down in typical goose aggression style.  It would have been comical had I not known from experience that if a goose bites you, it hurts!

Then Wallace goes bananas.  Keep in mind that The Goose is as big as he was, meaning that he was bigger (and nastier) than Wallace.  Then he started acting like he was going to charge use.  All I could see in my mind is the goose charging, nipping Wallace, and Wallace, gentle boy that he is, biting back.  It would have been an all-out bloodbath that Wallace would probably win.

I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, even The Goose.  So I did what I thought I needed to.  I jumped.  Landed loudly on both of my feet.  Sounded like splat!  The Goose jumped, so I did it again.  Then I started trying to edge past.

We repeated the whole thing.  Finally, we managed to worm by him.  But as we were vacating the area (and quickly, I might add), he came after us again!  So I used the jump/splat technique once more.  Finally, success!  The Goose left us alone, and we were on our merry way home to dine, thankful that-at least today, we were safely out of goosing range.

I just finished reading The Shack by William Paul Young.  Mind you, I’ve read it in bits and pieces during lunch, so forgive me if I get some things wrong about the plot.  There’s been a lot of water under the bridge over the past two weeks.

The book starts out by explaining a little about the background of Mackenzie Phillips.  He’s the son of an abusive father who called himself a Christian.  Mack soon leaves home, grows up, marries a wonderful woman, graduates from seminary somewhere along the way, and then raises four children, including a young daughter, Missy.  At the age of six, Missy is kidnapped and murdered.  The Great Sadness then descends upon Mack.  Four years (I think) after the murder, God, or Papa as Mack’s wife calls him, invites Mack back to the shack where they found Missy’s torn and bloody dress.  Keep in mind that her body was never found.

Mack takes the bait.  Without telling his wife, he heads up and comes face to face with the Trinity.  Papa, in the form of an African-American woman, Jesus, a Middle Eastern carpenter, and Sarayu, an Oriental woman who is the Holy Spirit.  Throughout most of the novel, he is forced to confront the issues encompassing his life.  His past as an abused child.  The murder of his daughter.  His anger toward the murderer.  The need to seek forgiveness and to forgive forgiveness.  His ideas about the character of God and who he thinks God really is.  Though some plot exists, this is a mostly psychological book where Mack works through his issues with lots of dialog.

Here are some things to keep in mind.  First, this is a work of fiction.  Second, the author wrote this novel as an attempt to understand his own painful past.  Guideposts published an article by him recently.  Third, he never intended this to make it as a bestseller.

I know that a lot of people have issues with the theology presented in the book.  I’ll leave the theological debate up to others, as that is way out of my league.  I’ll discuss other aspects.

Plot.  The plot at times was tough for me to read, as it’s more of a psychological plot than anything else.  I could pick it up and put it down without much problem and not lose my spot.  I loved the way that each conversation seemed to address a different point of Mack’s pain.  I also saw deep echoes of the author’s own painful past in the plot as well.  He struggles to answer fundamental questions.  Who is God?  Why did this have to happen?  Can I trust Him?  Who am I really?

Characters.  The characters were interesting.  They challenged me.  And the imagery was incredible.  Wisdom as a woman, which is the image used in Proverbs, really struck me.  I also believe that he had great character development in Mack, who went from being oppressed by the Great Sadness to understanding that he is God’s child, as was Missy.

The writing itself wasn’t as smooth as many published authors, but again, it’s important to keep in mind the intent of the book.  It wasn’t meant to be published but instead was meant to be a way to convey to his children, wife, and friends, what had happened to him and how he worked through it.

So overall?

4 bones out of 5.

Next up:  How Sweet It Is, by Alice Wisler

I’m a writer.  And before I was a writer, I was a big reader.  And as a writer, I firmly believe that you need to be widely read, not only in the genre in which you write, but also in other areas, be it books for research or simply to widen your horizons.

And it recently came to me as I thought about all of the recommendations I get and the way that I discover new authors to read (new to me, that is), what a better way than to share recommendations than in my blog!  So is the birth of My Take.

Some things to keep in mind about My Take.

• I’m no expert. I’m not a theologian, a PhD in anything, and not even an English major.  No, my major was physics.  What I’m trying to say is that I’m simply a good reader who wishes to pass on my take.
• Everyone is different. One book may produce a thousand different reactions by the thousand people who read it.  This is because each person is unique, and novels and nonfiction may speak to each person in a unique way.  So just because I may like or trash a book doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s good or bad.  It’s simply my take on the book.
• I’m not trying to push ideology on anyone. Yes, I’m a Christian.  But that doesn’t mean that because I rave about a book about my faith that I’m trying to push my faith on anyone.  However, God uses any way He pleases to reach people, and if someone reacts strongly, defensibly, to something I say, take heed.  God may be working in your heart.  But remember first and foremost, this is my take.
• I accept recommendations. If someone has a book suggestion, feel free to post in the comments.  I may or may not take you up on that read.  I’ve already got a backlog, but I’m happy to add to that backlog.  It just doesn’t mean that I’ll get to it any time in the near future.

So here’s my scoring system.

• 5 bones out of 5:  Awesome book!  I loved it, and not only will I strongly recommend it, but I’ll probably read it again at some point in the future.
• 4 bones out of 5.  It’s a really good book.  I’ll recommend it, but most likely, I’ll tuck it away on my shelf somewhere.
• 3 bones out of 5. The book is okay.  There were some issues, but overall, a decent read.
• 2 bones out of 5.  The book is not good and really not worth a recommendation.
• 1 bone out of 5.  I didn’t even finish the book and would never recommend it to anyone

First up?  The Shack by William P. Young

It’s a New Year again.  And this year, I had one resolution – to not have any resolutions.  The reason?  I never keep them.  Instead, I wound up getting frustrated about not keeping them and instead rebelled against the reason why I made them.  Take eating healthier.  Very vague.  A nice, vague resolution.  And easy to break.  Which I did so quite nicely and instead went the other direction.

So this year, I have some goals.  Not too many because I don’t want to get overwhelmed.  One?  Get the three novels I have ready to go out on the street by writing query letters for them.  Another, run the Patriots Olympic Distance Triathlon in Williamsburg.  Big goals, I know.  A home run.  And impossible to achieve by just stating that goal.

The key to reaching those two is to develop a series of smaller goals.  So, with a lot of thought and more to come, I’ve done that.  For the writing goals, the steps are baby steps.  Tonight, I drafted a query letter for one of my novels.  Tomorrow night, I’ll revise it, and this weekend, I’ll revise it again with the hope of sending it out to one agent on Monday.  And after that?  I’ll send it to other agents.  Regarding the triathlon, I’m planning on entering at least two sprint triathlons, maybe three, with one of those being in a tidal river.  I’m still working on the smaller goals to reach the sprint triathlons.  All of these?  Base hits.

Maybe, after 38 years of living on this earth, I’ve realized that God works in our lives more by base hits than home runs.  So I’m hoping that these are base hits that will help me reach my goals.

It happened again last night.  I had the whole night free to work on editing, and it didn’t happen.  Why?  That dreaded thing that writers hate.  Writer’s Block.  Better known as The Block.  Okay.  So having the Internet right there and handy didn’t help.  And yes, the evening was mostly a lost cause because of having it, but once I finally, finally started writing, the words began to come quickly.  At least until I had to go to bed.  O for a day when I don’t have to get up early!

So how does one beat The Block?  Here’s what I’ve learned.

• Don’t fight it.  Fighting The Block only makes it worse because it gets me totally frustrated.  And the more frustrated I get, the more I get my emotions bound up in that frustration.
• Do something else.  Turn your mind away from writing.  For me, that meant playing around on the Internet a little.  I checked e-mail.  Looked up the music video for Toby Keith’s “American Ride” and Jason Michael Carroll’s “Hurry Home.”  Both are great videos, by the way.  That and getting the video player up and running since I recently reformatted ate up most of my evening.
• Completely walk away and come back later.  This has always helped when I’ve gotten frustrated.  In college, it was when I was trying to solve physics problems.  Now it can pop up with something at work or during writing.  So The Block is nothing new.  What do I do?  A change of scenery helps.  Or just setting it aside until several hours go by.  I set my mind other things, and ideas for writing pop into my head.  Sometimes, these ideas even come in the shower.

So don’t let The Block block you from writing.  Instead of fighting it, embrace it by filling those frustrated moments with other things.

Well, I guess you could say that Labor Day starts a new fiscal year for me.  No, it’s not the State Fiscal Year, which starts on July 1st.  Or the Federal Fiscal Year that starts on October 1st, but to me, it’s still a new fiscal year since school has started or will start soon for kids all over the nation.  Though I don’t have children, it seems as if a lot does start over.  They move up a grade in school.  At church, classes switch, and the kids move up a grade.  A new year for everyone.

And in some respects, it’s a new year for hubby and me.  We just moved a couple of months ago to a new place.  It’s nice.  Closer to family, friends, and church, and still close to work.  So it’s almost like starting up life again after a rushed and hurried summer.  And where, exactly, did summer go?

Now, I look forward to life easing back to “normal.”  Well, as “normal” as life can get.  And that includes continuing my writing, and, I hope, keeping up with this blog a little better.