Category: Daily Life

My grandma owned a tiny neighborhood grocery store in the hills of the Allegheny mountains, and I loved to visit during those long unhurried days of summer. My grandfather had died when my mom was ten, so it fell to my grandma to keep the family afloat financially and she opened up and ran that store for almost thirty years. I found her store fascinating; she sold penny candy, Hershey’s ice cream, soda pop by the bottle and neighbors would stop in to pick up the newspaper and milk and sit down at her counter for a chat. I perched on a stool at the far end of that long burnished wood counter and half-listened to their conversations, and when I grew bored, I went outside to find a cousin or a book to read while perched in a tree.

To me times were simple. T.V. was generally boring, since we only had three stations and if you were lucky, you had cartoons on a Saturday morning. A house had one or two telephones that ate money if you wanted to call anyone long-distance, so you can be sure my mom wasn’t checking on me every day. Fast food had not made its way to my grandma’s town, so you couldn’t rush off to grab a burger and fries. If I wanted some greasy food — and what kid doesn’t — I trundled up the stairs to my aunt’s kitchen and she happily fried chicken and french fries (just peeled) in Crisco.  I woke in the mornings to my Uncle John sitting at my grandma’s table for a cup of coffee before heading to work, and I fell asleep with windows opened wide to catch the lilac-scented breezes and the ghost stories grandma could conjure up.

Did I ever get bored?  Yes, all the time, but I knew better than to say it, for the moment a kid claimed boredom, they were handed a chore or two, since there were always dishes to wash or dusting or weeding to do.

My mom and grandma would hang the clothes out on the clothesline to dry and the crackle and fresh smell of the sheets could not be matched by any fabric softener’s scent. Before the fitness craze obsessed the nation, we would take hike up the mountain to pick flowers and put them on grandpa’s grave, and I suppose much of the outdoors work and even inside cleaning burned a bunch of calories. I don’t recall things being sanitized to death, so we didn’t feel as if the house had to be party perfect before a neighbor could venture over for a cup of coffee or dinner. And the entertainment back then rivaled “The Voice.” Someone would drift over to the piano and start playing requests (and no matter where you went, a person could play), and others would start singing. And on my grandma’s house wide porch? I would swing out there, transfixed by the lightning bugs and sing, oblivious to any listening ears.

I’m not saying I’m averse to clothes dryers and dishwashers and computers or cable TV. I just wish there were a balance between the ways things used to be and today; a melding of the best of both worlds. I suppose it’s natural to look back at your childhood and think it was great, but I’m striving for more here. Do we lead balanced lives? Are we endlessly rushing around? Do we need to be relentlessly entertained? Or do our kids have to be blissed out happy most of the time? I’m not pointing fingers for the blame lies at my doorstep (albeit neatly swept), also.

I give in and let my kid play video games not only on the Xbox now but on his phone. I have over 800 Facebook friends, and let’s face it, no one can possibly keep up with that many people. I skim through the cable listings and proclaim that nothing is on. But I love my Swiffer; it’s much easier than a mop, and fast food saves me at least twice a week. So what gives? Why do I wait for vacation to unplug and reconnect with my family? Why do I make these to do lists that read like something off of Pinterest? I want to make homemade strawberry jam.  I want to make it from the berries that I picked from the field. I want to sit out on our new patio on these warm summer evenings rather than wilt away in the air conditioned comfort of my house. But I don’t seem to quite make it.  The days fill up with carpools and errand running and really running (for fitness sake) and before I know it, the day is gone.

I’m using this as a sort of therapy session for me, and I hope it helps you. I think making boundaries around our time is a good idea. Setting aside some time for reflection and daydreaming makes sense. A woman told me last week how she took a walk outside in her new neighborhood filled with beautiful yards and no one was out. She asked me where everyone was. Inside? I don’t know about you, but something about fresh air and outside makes me feel better if not good. Should we stroll out of our comfort zones? Try connecting in a meaningful way with someone else. Not in a quickly worded email or post, but over coffee or on the phone, and not while we pass away the time driving. Sit down in your favorite chair and focus on the talk. The difference is noticeable.

Thanks for letting me sort this out. I wish I could hear what you remember from “back then.” What do you miss that you want to recreate in your life now? Me? I would find a house with a big porch swing and watch the fireflies before autumn closes in. And maybe sing a little, too.

Respectfully,

DEP

If you read The Intramuralist often, you know she has a voice that is passionate about the need to listen… to be respectful… to be non-judgmental.  Perhaps she inherited some of her grandfather’s DNA, for without the benefit of Facebook, he lived the same passion, face-to-face instead.  Let me introduce you to this Listener.

In a small town there are two people who “know the scoop” about what is happening when, where, and with whom.  No, it is not that they gossip. Rather, they offer a listening ear and closed mouth to their clientele.  They are encouragers, not judges.  So despite the qualifications of the two local pastors in the Minnesota town of my upbringing, Archie, the barber, and Herb, the bartender, were the confidantes, though they never hung out their shingles.  Herb was my dad, and since people drink a beer more often than they get a haircut, he “worked” overtime.

Now I can’t say that as a teen, I was particularly impressed when a customer came in for the coffee I served, but seemed more interested in conversation with my dad in the corner booth.  I knew Dad enjoyed people, and I just passed it off as his friendly attitude.  There was Blanch who needed to join AA, Hank who lost his job, and Herman who was depressed.  But then I discovered friends of mine came to see him too… Jo who was heartbroken over Bob’s rejection, Eddie who was leaving for the Army, Merle who felt she was a disappointment to her parents.  Even after I left for college, they still came to see him.  They sent him cards when they traveled; they called just to say hello; they brought their new spouse to meet him; they came to call at his funeral. With more maturity, I came to realize that Dad knew the importance of people.  His concern and interest were authentic.  His insights wise.  He could be trusted with what was entrusted to him.  He knew love listens.   Would we all seek to listen as my dad?  … and his granddaughter… listening that is respectful and non-judgmental.

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And oh yes, the pastors came to see him too… knocking at the back door to visit… and knowing they could buy a six-pack without anyone else knowing.

Thanks, Intramuralist, for the opportunity to share.

Respectfully,

DDL

An old friend likes to say, “I was the perfect parent – until I started having children.”

You know the story. The idealistic 20-something sees children acting up in the grocery store and thinks to herself, “I will never let my children act like that.” And then, as if to mock her own words, her children became THOSE children.

The one guarantee I can share with you is that there is no guarantee – no manual for raising the perfect child. It does not exist. Why? Because the perfect child does not exist. He’s just a myth.

I read them: Those books about raising children. Meant to give you the formula for The Perfect Child, those books only deepen the guilt.

I read them, looked at my own children, and the guilt deepened. I must be doing it all wrong. My children not only opposed those perfect parenting formulas, they stomped, shredded, chewed, hit one another with, and tore into little bits those guilt-inducing instructional books.

And my guilt grew exponentially. This is all my fault. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I do this better? Make me a solid list of rules I can follow so these children can become perfect (and so I, by association, can become the Perfect Parent). No such list ever appeared. But boy, the publishing houses have tried!

And then I encountered grace. While I was so bent on following the law, I failed to see the truth of grace: that I could never do it right. That they would never become perfect. That every day, in every way, we all fail. And at that moment of realization, law in all its sternness became balanced with grace in all its sweetness.

That I can never match up to the obligations of the law is abundantly clear. In his essay “The Chronicle of an Undeception,” Michael Bauman says, “The tragic vision of life arises from the fact that we are flawed — deeply, desperately, tragically flawed — and we cannot be trusted. We are broken at the soul; our defect is life wide and heart deep.” I am in desperate need of One whose perfection can fill all those empty places of failure.

And what I so desperately needed to teach my children was that they, too, were flawed and needed the sweet sacrifice of a Savior to cancel all that. Once I – and my children – can learn, really internalize, that truth, then redemption can take place.

You see, I was trying to impose a set of laws on myself and on my family, and by sheer force of will make them abide by these rules, these formulas.

But what all those parenting books never told me was the ugly truth. Sets of rules imposed upon sinners won’t save them from their sins. The rules (or laws) only deepen the sense of failure, as the book of Romans so beautifully tells us.

What I need, and what my children need, is the truth of the gospel, taught daily. Only then can we be free from the guilt, the shame, the failure.

Did I then become the Perfect Parent? Not at all. I still fail, and I continue to fail, and so do my children. But at least now I know why I have failed and how to address it. I rest my failures at the foot of the cross, thank my Savior for covering me with His redeeming grace, and live to fail another day. Where that thought may have discouraged me mightily 10, 15, 20 years ago, now I can smile, because I know I am forgiven, covered, and guilt-free.

Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord!  (See Romans 7: 1-25)

Respectfully,

Shaunna

What does an apartment flood, a house fire, and a stolen car all have in common?

My family.

We have walked through each of these trying times, and by His grace have walked out stronger and with a greater appreciation of each other, our community, and how material things are just possessions.

Yes, just possessions.

It was October 6, 2004, and I was pregnant with our sixth son.  I was having a rough time and was ill from this pregnancy.  My mom had taken our 18 month old to her house.  My hubby and oldest were off to football, and I had taken the middle 3 boys to their weekly church program.  I was coming home to soak in the bathtub and enjoy the quiet.  Instead, I pulled up to firefighters kicking out the windows to our burning house.  I am so thankful none of the boys were in the car, since that sight gave me nightmares for weeks.  More thankfully, none of us were home, since the fire started in the box of firewood, we were told none of us would’ve survived.  The fire burned so hot, it melted the smoke detectors.

The events that happened next are the part I really want to share with you, my friends…

The sweetest elderly couple in a Red Cross van came to us that evening, provided basic clothes, toiletries, and necessities.  We had friends and neighbors bringing blankets and food.  The Red Cross put us up in a hotel for a night, and then we stayed with family for the rest of the week.  Our church was truly God’s hands and feet to us — there anytime we needed.  Our van had died in this time, too, leaving my boys and myself stuck in a busy intersection.  So they had an anonymous donor buy us, a new van to us.  We found a rental house only six days later, and the Red Cross put down our deposit.  Our church then completely furnished the house, including a generously stocked fridge.

Our football organization held fundraisers and collections for household items and clothes.  We had people calling and trying to explain the connection to our family through a friend or just how they had heard of our situation — could they just drop off some money?

My hubby worked at Cincinnati’s Xavier University at the time, and the student athletes put on a Christmas party; they filled our new van so full we could hardly get it all home!

The outpouring of love, grace, and openhandedness from local churches, sports organizations, Red Cross, Coats for Kids, and so many more friends of friends was just amazing.

Friends, I know we are all busy, but when given the chance, I encourage you to be a part of your community as much as possible.  Join a church, a sports team, organization, or a community group.  You may start out thinking you are there to help someone else, but the person you will help the most is yourself.

“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”

— Mahatma Ghandi

Respectfully,

AW

When I was a young mom, things were simple. If we threw a baby shower, there was cake, a vegetable and fruit tray, and some punch. Everyone brought a gift and that was it. There was lots of fun, lots of memories, and no pressure. As our children celebrated birthdays, pin the tail on the donkey and a piñata and maybe musical chairs sufficed. A cake and punch with some ice cream thrown in for good measure was enough and everyone had a good time.  I am so happy we didn’t have Facebook and Instagram then. The same pressure I feel when I see how many miles my friends have jogged and how they beat their time on their last marathon would have done me in.

As my children are all young adults now, I endure ribbing about their childhood short shorts and striped shirts and buzzed or bowl haircuts (… which I might add, were fashionable at the time). But it doesn’t bother me because I know that back then, I didn’t care and neither did they or their friends. They were clean and clothed and not naked. I shopped at Mervyns and thrift shops. It was enough, and we were happy.

I feel sorry for this generation, parading their exercise and dietary accomplishments, relationships, clothing choices, extravagant parties and seemingly perfect lives for all to see. The motives may be pure, but do our narcissistic natures cause us to paint a media picture that is not real?

Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to know how much snot is coming from your baby’s nose or how naughty Johnny is and how you want to send him to boot camp. That is just as unhelpful. But do we post things to make ourselves look a certain way? Do we post things that we would say in normal conversation?

Imagine yourself standing in the lobby at church or your favorite hangout and announcing at the top of your lungs:

“Everyone, Mary brought me a meal tonight!  I am so lucky I have so many friends!”

“Everyone, look at how cute I look in my new dress!”

“Everyone, I spent only $200 on Hank’s first birthday party; everything was perfect and only a few of you were invited!”

“I am so strong; I can actually run 22 miles a week and live on carrots!”

“Everyone, my child is such a brat. I can’t take it anymore!”

Maybe I’m a spoil sport, but I think I’m not the only one who feels this way. One time I posted a quote about marriage on my Facebook page on my anniversary. Soon after, I noticed an old friend had unfriended me. As I searched my heart as to why, I believe that quote cut her to the quick. She has never married and always wanted to. Do I know this for sure? No, but the Lord used it to convict me.

Facebook isn’t real. It tempts us to say things and present ourselves in a way that is not authentic. We get wrapped up in what we want to say without thinking of how our readers might feel. We don’t see their reactions or have the ability to interact with them after they read or see our latest entry. It is like having an unharnessed tongue on crack.

I love the Bible. It touches every topic and I believe there are principles that God defined that apply to this issue as well. If used as a filter, they could guide us as we pen our thoughts and post our pictures for the world to see.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.  Phil 4:8

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.  Romans 12:15

Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.  Ephesians 4:29

There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.  Proverbs 12:18

Know this, my beloved brothers:  let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.  James 1:19-20.

In light of these guidelines, what do we do?  Be sensitive to your audience. Will others feel left out, condemned or discouraged from reading or seeing your photostream? Will they feel informed on social issues, or politics? Will they feel encouraged about the ways that you are growing and learning on your journey? Don’t forget the old-fashioned thank you note. Thank people for their generosity toward you in a private message rather than publicly.  Your children are darling, and I like seeing them. I will rejoice in your marathon success, and I will try not to covet your physical abilities.  And as the old adage goes: if in doubt, don’t.

Respectfully,

DC

You may have realized that the Intramuralist has a bit of a “nerdy side.”  Sorry, I’m pretty comfortable with it.  It’s the part of me that implored me to memorize each offensive stat for every Major League Baseball starter as a kid — and the same motive for committing each amendment in the Bill of Rights to a different (albeit creative and quite timely) tune.  Yes, my inner nerd remains alive and well.

The beautiful aspect of this nerdy self is that it’s prompted by a sincere quest for knowledge.  I want to know what actually is good and true and right.  I don’t just want to repeat that mantra because it sounds good.  Hence, as an adult, the pursuit has continued — although absent a few of the most current baseball statistics.

One of my keen pursuits is the annual reading of the bible.  Call me nerdy.  Call me nuts.  Ask me what kind of reading is that.  But the bottom line is that if this is a centuries old revering of wisdom, then I want to know what’s in it.  I don’t want to express concurrence nor contention without being fully aware of what’s in the book.  I also don’t want to simply pick and choose what to apply.  I want to know the book in its entirety.  I want to understand what has made this book so offensive to so many.  I want to get why still more have embraced it with their last, dying breath.  If this is a book of unparalleled wisdom, then I want to comprehend what I can — rather than rely on someone or something other than the source to filter what it says.

Let the record show — human as I am (and God, have a little grace on me, por favor) — that sometimes I’ve gotten a little bored.  There have been passages where I utter a “what” or  “what’s the big deal” or even an “ewwww.”   When I search through the kings’ annals and ancient building code accounts, I’ve even (sorry) been prone to dozing off.  As seemingly always, however, something strikes me.  Profoundly.  Something typically unexpected… but yet, amazingly, acutely, relevant.  Just as it did this morning…

Attention all…  God’s message…

There is no faithfulness, no love,
no acknowledgment of God in the land.

There is only cursing, lying and murder,
stealing and adultery;

There is violence everywhere —
one murder after another.

That is why your land is in mourning,
and everyone is wasting away.
Even the wild animals, the birds of the sky,
and the fish of the sea are disappearing.

Don’t point your finger at someone else
and try to pass the blame…

My people are being destroyed
because they don’t know me.

Know it’s with great sobriety that I share the above — aware of the violence in our land… the effect on our environment… the individual, corporate, and even government’s dishonorable behavior — and also a behavior often seemed ignored or even celebrated.  We all have at some time engaged in poor behavior, yet as I read the above, I’m struck with how it begins… with “no acknowledgement of God in the land.”

Are we freely allowed to acknowledge God in this land?

Or is that being squelched?  Is God’s name being removed?  From public places?  From public credit?

I wonder… “my people are being destroyed because they don’t know me.”  My inner nerd wants to comprehend how relevant that is today…

Respectfully,

AR