Friday Tidings

Book time vs. computer time A recent Internet outage revealed how dependent I’ve become. I wasn’t always this way. Back in the Dark Ages when I graduated from high school, I packed my belongings and moved to my first apartment. My father, who probably was more worried than he let on, insisted on paying for a telephone. These devices were actually rented from the phone company. It was the only way he could reach me. Problem? I wasn’t always home—and there were no answering machines yet. I also brought with me my brand new electric typewriter. Throughout college, any paper I wrote had to be typed and then re-typed as many times as required for editing. No cut and paste--those words still had their original meaning. Over the next 10 years our export business utilized many cutting edge communication tools: personal computer, fax machine, the “mobile” phone that weighed about 5 pounds. It seemed like each year brought new toys. Cell phones. Digital cameras. The Internet. Now our pho...

Lake Chelan Fifteen years is a long time. Count back that many years and consider all that’s happened. Even though our memories differ, one thing we all share: there’s no going back. Except in our minds. And that’s what I did this past weekend. I visited Lake Chelan, where I lived 15 years ago. I spent a couple days recalling who I once was. It was time to take my 15 Year Test. Imagine how many choices I’ve made in that time. The 15 Year Test has some pointed questions about those choices. So, how many answers did I have right? How many wrong ones? How many questions did I have to leave blank, because I hadn’t been able to find time to do those things? I left Lake Chelan in my mid-30’s. Since then I’ve had thousands of days worth of opportunities.  What did I do with all that time? My test score spotlights many activities. Raised kids. Spent hours reading. Worked from home. Volunteered at times. Some of my hours bear fruit today, but I see some holes where time escaped, spil...

There’s something incredibly refreshing about the faith of young children. Some might call it gullibility or naïveté. But I see it differently. Sure, you can tell them something untrue and they don’t have enough understanding to doubt you, but if you ever want to experience a different peace, get down on a five year old level and ponder life. In our daily busyness, we can miss the chances children give us to see their unique perspective. Sometimes their insights can only be described as “inspired”. Younger kids haven’t faced enough rejection and ridicule, so they speak the truth they know. There’s nothing quite like it. And honestly, I’ve missed it. But my grandson has given me another chance. This past summer he came for a visit and as we sat in the loft of the cabin (where I keep the toys) he asked me about Heaven. I thought for a moment how best to respond, but he offered his own thoughts: Heaven is soft and warm and everyone smiles. It’s yellow and blue with lots of other col...

We’d just climbed into the truck for the six-hour post holiday trip home when I launched into my chosen discussion topic: our nation’s economic woes. My son, having listened to me ALL the way over to grandma’s house, asked politely, “Do you ever talk about anything else?” Okay. True enough. I was trying to invite a dialogue of ideas with my college-aged son. But one round was enough for him. He opted for ear buds and his extensive music library. I confess I’m an economics junky. I read the reports and ponder the dire scenarios. It’s times like these that help me recall my grandparent’s conversations about the Great Depression. I also lived through the failure of our first business venture in the midst the 1980’s economic fallout. We’d started a strawberry farm—and grew huge, delicious strawberries. We’d probably still be there had we not gone into debt for land at 12% interest along with a tractor loan at 18% interest. It took less than four years to realize we’d never make eno...

Each New Year’s Eve I spend time reflecting. I like to evaluate where I’ve been and where I hope to go. It was on my 21 st New Year’s Eve when I realized that the upcoming New Year would bring far greater changes than ever before. I would soon be in my final months of college. My whole life had been cocooned in school. Now I’d be on my own. Well, not exactly on my own. I had gotten married earlier in the year, so now I shared this uncertain future with the man I always wanted next to me. On that New Year's Eve we climbed to the top of the Evergreen clock tower to contemplate our hopes. From that vantage, we could watch the huge hands shift minute by minute towards the twelve. Just ahead: more chances and choices. We gazed out into the darkness as we imagined how it all would happen. Had we known what was out there would we have changed our minds or direction? We couldn’t see the disrupted dreams or the prayers that weren’t to be granted. We didn’t see the broken budgets or d...

December had just arrived when I got the call that Grandma was gravely ill. I knew this day would come—for she was now in her 90’s, but nothing would ever replace the sound of her voice, the hard work of her hands, or the faith she expressed in her words. I felt defeated and somehow sensed I was losing more than my grandma, I would be losing someone who had known me from my birth and helped me see things I sometimes missed. The holiday spirit might have been happening around me, but it didn’t arrive in my heart. The carols were playing but I didn’t hear the music. The twinkling lights were strung everywhere I looked, but I couldn’t bring myself to open up the boxes of decorations for my own home. I didn’t feel like celebrating. It wasn’t the same and I didn’t want to pretend that it was. Just 10 days before Christmas she passed on. Her journey here was over. When I considered her life and all that she had seen, she had to have been tired and ready to go Home. Her wish was to be buri...

December used to be my month of intense temptation-- to overeat and overspend. Sweets were definitely the worst. Years ago I could be held hostage by a plate of Christmas cookies. Now, thankfully, I have that one under control, but like Whack-A- Mole, another temptation comes to take its place. Temptation sometimes tastes good. It can be chewed, swallowed or smoked. It can be wrapped in shiny paper and bows. You can wear something tempting; someone else can wear the temptation. Sometimes temptation is hiding in the shadows, other times it’s as obvious as the TV or computer. It’s tempting to be lazy just as it’s tempting to be a workaholic for money’s sake. Temptation subtly twists good things, like exercise, into addictions. Temptation can be a person, place or thing. It begins young. I remember watching my grandson sneak fudge out of the refrigerator. He was tempted and in his 3-year-old mind, it was worth the risk. I was no different. And as I got older, the only thing...