Valentine's day....as a man, this Hallmark creation has always brought with it a bit of tension/apprehension for me. Somehow, at a very early age, I got the message (that I believe persists to this day) that this is mostly about men delivering a respectable showing of love and affection to their ladies and not vice versa. At least that is how Madison Avenue's messages have conditioned me.
It all started so innocently in grade school. Creating those decorated brown paper bags that hung from our desks. Then, on the big day, walking around and dropping in the Valentine "card", worth approximately 10 cents, into each of your fellow students bag. But ah yes, for me there was almost always one fair-headed maiden that was special and I poured over my selection of cards, purchased by my Mom at Kresges in St.Paul. I would look for one that had a certain punch to it, something that would somehow communicate my special feelings even though they would forever be left unspoken in actuality.
As years advanced, and having a girlfriend became a bigger deal, the not-so-subtly implied expectations of Valentine's Day did too. I would become aware of hearing vague hints of what so and so was planning to give his girlfriend. The first time I heard of a guy who was investing $10 into gifting his steady, I started to understand the incredible depths that one could go to "express" the otherwise silent pinings of the heart.
I wonder if other guys feel like me in this. That is that Valentine's Day raises virtually no expectations for the average guy in terms of receiving. The real "guy" expectations revolve around figuring out something to say, do or give that will meet what we imagine are the expectations of our better-halves. Next to her birthday and Christmas, Valentine's Day looms in 3rd place for a day when the invisible balance scales of relational life make an appearance. Our offering is weighed and ultimately deemed to be merely adequate, perhaps a home-run or, may you be spared this fate, badly found lacking in emotional depth, creativity and heartfeltness.
OK, OK I know. It's by now obvious that I have some performance anxiety around getting Valentine's day "right" (as I do for all gift-oriented days). But Valentine's day has this special twist...it's not necessarily about how much money was or was not spent, not about delivering results that are according to any necessarily traditional formulas....no it's about expressing the heart. It's an opportunity to somehow try to show what too much of my everyday life may not have been delivering. (Of course this is not all that different from any gift-giving event but please cut me some slack as this post is about VDay)
Sandi and I have been married now for 8 years. Let me just say unequivocally that our partnership was and is a God-thing, not expected, didn't see it coming, almost bailed before it could happen but am now so grateful that I didn't miss His lead on this blessing. Sandi really is a "low maintenance" kind of gal. Those seem like such crude words to describe any part of this beautiful woman of faith but it's true. So manning-up for gift time is really not a major challenge like it can be for guys with girls who have mountain high expectations. Nonetheless, I still have a huge desire to somehow express my love for her on such "gift" days in a manner that is intentional, that meets my own internal standard and avoids any hint of being merely an automatic pilot type of offering. It's just that I broke the freaking curve so early in our relationship.
We were married in 2001 in January so that first Valentine's Day for us was also my first post-marital debut as a gift giver. We had the blessing of an incredible honeymoon in Playa del Carmen. It was idyllic and I can only hope that some day we might get to do something together that even comes close. My pea brain was working overtime to come up with something that would fulfill my internal "apropos meter". It was my first appearance as a husband to Sandi and to her friends and family and I wanted to do this first Valentine's Day right!
Our initial dating was built around Caribou, specifically the one at 96 and Hogdson in Shoreview. We became aware of each other by some match-making efforts of my pastor's wife, Jill Herringshaw. It all started so innocently by phone and we probably talked together a dozen times before we ventured out to meet face-to-face. Caribou was to be that initial meeting place and it continued to be so for a couple of months....always sitting at the same table. We were married within about 9 months of that first coffee date. (Heh, when you're in your 50's you don't necessarily need years of courtship!) And now I'm needing a suitably good idea for this 1st Valentine's Day. It came as most of my really good ideas have since....it came from that still quiet, inner voice of God himself.
And he said, "Buy the table".
Obedience came next and, after some weeks of finagling with Caribou corporate, I got the go ahead to buy "our table" for $125. Yep, if they can retire some athlete's jersey well then, by cracky, this table of ours was going to be taken out of public service too.
February 14, 2001 arrived and Sandi and I headed off to Caribou to have coffee together before we went to work. "Our table" was all decked out in a huge red cellophane wrapper kind of in the shape of a gigantic Hershey's kiss. When Sandi asked "Where are we going to sit?", I simple said "At our table!" Sandi, being a polite and proper sort was having none of that...she said we couldn't because it was evidently being used for some sort of Valentine promotion or something. I, in my Italian-way, insisted and I finally got her to sit with me "at" our table although we had to hold our coffee cups as the tabletop was not available. While she was in no way comfortable sitting there (she hates anything that even comes remotely close to being or making a spectacle, which, by the way, I have learned to have fun with many times over the last 8 years!), she couldn't help peer inside the red cellophane wrapper. You see, the Caribou folks had been ever so kind and besides packaging this all up so perfectly they had also put some extra gifts inside. There were several pounds of coffee, a mug and a beautiful pink heart made of small, tight, pink rosebuds. And, of course, they had my Valentine card/envelope propped up inside addressed simply "Sandi" (which I had cleverly brought to them the night before).
So Sandi is sitting there, fidgeting in her seat, not liking all the people who keep looking over at us, feeling like we are in an inappropriate, unauthorized area. (The manager had told many of the customers, in a hushed voice naturally, of what this red table deal was all about so they kept looking at us, shooting these all-knowing smiles and head nods...poor Sandi, she must have felt like she was in a bad dream!) But intermittently, she can't help but try and look inside the red cello "kiss" to figure out what all those goodies were in there. Mind you, this was some thick cello and it wasn't easy to instantly see what was inide. Finally, after I was sure she was going to bolt for the door instead of staying where she didn't feel like she belonged, she noticed my card with the name "Sandi" written in my handwriting. All she said was "Wait a minute....what is going on here?"
Well, suffice it to say that after spending some considerable effort to convince her to reach under and get that card, she finally did so. The card pledged my love afresh but it also had some cryptic reference to the table now being ours Oh, she was blessed alright by it all, but the best part was at the end of our time. I hoisted the table onto my shoulder when leaving. Sandi just looked at me, surely thinking that I had already lost it and we had only been married 39 days!
I assured her it was all proper and Sandi and I and the table left Caribou with the judges awarding perfect 10's for my first Valentine (and with all the husbands in Caribou and any who may be reading this now scowling at me and virtually shouting at me with their eyes, "Curve breaker, fellowship of men betrayer!")
Today, that table sits in the corner of our dining room as a testament to how it all began. And I have yet to come up with anything that will beat that V Day gift. Note to self: when making an initial effort perhaps you should leave room for future improvement!
Happy Valentine's Day to all!
Santiago out....
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
2009
It's that time again...when there is a sort of pause in the action as one just-completed year passes and a "brand new shiny one" (as Di would say) presents itself. Sitting here, wondering about my posture towards all this. After some 60+ years of sojourning this orb I have taken a range of positions...from blase' disregard of any particular new projects or directions to all out efforts to change things up and take a new lease on life.
For 2009, there are several things I'm aware of that are worthy of being intentional about. Probably foremost is my sincere desire to walk in more joy and abandonment. My many years of walking as a believer have not been ones where peace, joy and contentment would be the most accurate descriptors . I so want to emulate/appropriate Paul's testimony of being content in all circumstances. Really tired of experiencing life in a conditional mode....good things happening, ducks lining up nicely = I get to be joyful. Lousy things going on, insufficiencys, broken stuff and people = I don't get to be joyful. Want to break out of this formula....set this prisoner free Father.
Another thing is a felt need to change my attitude about the marathon of life. I believe it is indeed not a sprint but must be approached as a marathon, complete with pacing, needing endurance and requiring an intentional focus. Too much of my thinking/outlook has been circling around the feeling like I'm somewhere after mile 24 and really yearning for the finish line. Guessing that I need to do some recalibration and an internal reset appropriate for my true place in the race that is most likely more like mile 19 or 20. (Of course, this is where the "wall" can nastily show up....). Gird up those loins Hoppy, there's more to be done.
There's work stuff that is screaming for me to either get more thoroughly in or get the heck out. There's life realities that prevent any sort of "getting out". There's too much lingering resentment being offered to me as a fruit to eat and I have eaten it too much and too often. That agreement has got to go! On one hand, the natural energies have noticeably ebbed. On the other hand, the requirements of living well in the remaining days seem to have ramped up in difficulty. So, if doing life isn't getting any easier coupled with depleted levels of what I am calling natural juices, it seems the need to be intentional, to avoid the default settings has got to be my strategy.
Intentional is just a good word for me right now. Really doesn't come that easy for the recovering hedonist in me. Would love to roll more on cruise control. Sorry Santiago, that dog won't hunt.
So all this blabbering to say this: James, I'm calling you up and out. Your time to rest will come but not yet bro, not yet. Purpose and determination might sound exhausting but they are the shoes you need to be shod with. And an attitude of gratitude is yours to be had as you practice His presence. After all, the Lord is near. It's not as though there are no reasons to rejoice. So get your head back in the game, don't look for the easy ways out, expect the effort that is required and take in the sights and mini-vacations that may be offered along the way. And don't forget, this world is not your home, but there is a real beauty that is reported to have been prepared with my name on it....but not yet, not yet.
For 2009, there are several things I'm aware of that are worthy of being intentional about. Probably foremost is my sincere desire to walk in more joy and abandonment. My many years of walking as a believer have not been ones where peace, joy and contentment would be the most accurate descriptors . I so want to emulate/appropriate Paul's testimony of being content in all circumstances. Really tired of experiencing life in a conditional mode....good things happening, ducks lining up nicely = I get to be joyful. Lousy things going on, insufficiencys, broken stuff and people = I don't get to be joyful. Want to break out of this formula....set this prisoner free Father.
Another thing is a felt need to change my attitude about the marathon of life. I believe it is indeed not a sprint but must be approached as a marathon, complete with pacing, needing endurance and requiring an intentional focus. Too much of my thinking/outlook has been circling around the feeling like I'm somewhere after mile 24 and really yearning for the finish line. Guessing that I need to do some recalibration and an internal reset appropriate for my true place in the race that is most likely more like mile 19 or 20. (Of course, this is where the "wall" can nastily show up....). Gird up those loins Hoppy, there's more to be done.
There's work stuff that is screaming for me to either get more thoroughly in or get the heck out. There's life realities that prevent any sort of "getting out". There's too much lingering resentment being offered to me as a fruit to eat and I have eaten it too much and too often. That agreement has got to go! On one hand, the natural energies have noticeably ebbed. On the other hand, the requirements of living well in the remaining days seem to have ramped up in difficulty. So, if doing life isn't getting any easier coupled with depleted levels of what I am calling natural juices, it seems the need to be intentional, to avoid the default settings has got to be my strategy.
Intentional is just a good word for me right now. Really doesn't come that easy for the recovering hedonist in me. Would love to roll more on cruise control. Sorry Santiago, that dog won't hunt.
So all this blabbering to say this: James, I'm calling you up and out. Your time to rest will come but not yet bro, not yet. Purpose and determination might sound exhausting but they are the shoes you need to be shod with. And an attitude of gratitude is yours to be had as you practice His presence. After all, the Lord is near. It's not as though there are no reasons to rejoice. So get your head back in the game, don't look for the easy ways out, expect the effort that is required and take in the sights and mini-vacations that may be offered along the way. And don't forget, this world is not your home, but there is a real beauty that is reported to have been prepared with my name on it....but not yet, not yet.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Holidays
As I look back, it seems that perhaps a blog-o-month has become my stride. It's been almost a year and 20 postings ago that I launched 500' Flyby. Looking back at my original purposes for this blog, I see that "getting things up and out" was listed. That continues to seem an entirely valid reason and leads me to today's posting subject....The Holidays!
Right off the bat, as a warning/disclaimer, I can tell you that this may not be all that edifying to read....informative of some of my history that has produced it's share of gnarliness, pain and a wounded twistedness perhaps but edifying....not so much. For some years, the holiday season has been a difficult time to say the least. It took this negative turn for me commencing in 1990, when I became separated and ultimately divorced in 1992. This seemed to act as a small nuclear bomb in all that had formerly contributed to functional family dynamics. Now all the former patterns and arrangements that had proven to work so well over past holiday seasons seemed to instantly dissolve. They were no longer viable for a variety of reasons - all seemingly having to do with the breakup and loss of my former position as in-house father and husband.
The initial years of this were especially dark and, without wanting to sound too dramatic, very traumatizing to me. It's that trauma from years of struggling with this that rears its ugly head at this time of year seeking to claim me and scuttle all joy. God Bless Norman Rockwell and his lovely paintings of intact families. No problems ever seemed to crop up in Rockwell land. There they are, all around the holiday dinner table, both grandparents are present, Dad is at the head of the table carving the perfectly done bird, quarter-size snow flakes flutter down gently just outside the window. If that for a moment could be considered a "deliverable", it has stood in my mind for years as a picture of something that has been so outside my ability to offer.
Now that my girls are grown, much of the pressure of "Will you have the girls?" (Have no idea, their Mom hasn't committed), "What time can you all be over here?" (Don't even know for sure I'll have the girls with me at all) is mercifully gone. Yet now, I am a member of a blended family (please don't get me wrong, I am very thankful for this blessing). Regardless of all the good, there are now 2 sets of traditions, lots of sensitivity and expectations that are fueled by the history of what was... what things used to be. I confess, it all just overwhelms me in ways I find difficult to pinpoint or articulate but are painful nonetheless.
And then, couple into all of the above a general financial tightness (amidst all the frenzied, consumeristic urgings) and the inability to just throw money at all the sticky bits that refuse to flow and I have myself something that falls far short of my favorite time of the year. Bottom line, high expectations with weak ability to fulfill...a lousy formula in any country or time.
For any who may read this who absolutely adore the holiday season, my sympathies if you have allowed yourself to read all of this. It used to be mine too until my 40's when family circumstances took things in undesirable directions. I bless you in your joy at this time of year!
And so my dilemma, how not to be a 200+ pound wet blanket that shuffles along as a gloom monster hoping mainly for January 2 to get here quickly? How to be a blessing and a sharer of joy while simultaneously being in pain? I've been given lots of advice about all this....ranging from just change your attitude, count your blessings, look at the bright side, take it to the Cross, even the always helpful "just get over it". Really, I feel the need for a deeper healing and a redemptive touch somewhere way inside. I am the best around those to whom I have no obligations, who have no particular expectations. But to those I love the most, my family, I am an internal mess in this season, hoping to keep all my issues bottled up but feeling guilty as I see them too often percolating out and spilling forth a dark, bitter froth into their paths.
Since writing the above paragraphs I've let a day go by and have been trying to get my mind right about how to best live and walk beyond the events of the past. I dumped out some of the crap that I wrestle with and apologize for it's stench. But this just can't be allowed to be the last chapter. Lord, give my a grace note here.....
It seems to me that the world system has shanghaied the birth of Jesus and has sought to relentlessly transform the holidays for its own consumeristic purposes. Why do we so often hear the word "perfect" used in conjunction with the ingredients of the holidays? "This year, give her the perfect gift of love from Shane Jewelers". "Serve the perfect appetizers at you holiday parties by using Kraft products." "Perfectly capture this year's festivities on Canons new 850SX". We get a steady inoculation of perfection as the standard that you should strive for to make this year's holiday season the best ever!
Heh, here's the deal. I resent all the ways that I have bought into wanting to provide the perfect gift, the perfect get-together. It's as if I somehow unwittingly assented to view my life and how I 'do' the holiday through this lens of perfection. The world's system is anxious for me to buy into this, to strive, to mightily chase the perfect whatever for my loved ones. As long as they succeed in manipulating me to manically chase after this unachievable holy grail of perfection, the more likely I will maximize my spending by scurrying after the Norm Rockwell Hallmark version of what every good husband, parent and friend would wish to provide to those they love.
Of course the enemy just sits by and undoubtedly chuckles in all this striving and/or lamenting about not making the grade. One way or the other, the accuser just wants to take me out...the means don't matter. "Just get him pinned down under a blanket of crabbiness or depression....i'm not picky".
So, not sharing the internal struggles that accompany this time of the year for me would be less than transparent. But settling for all this and letting the kingdom of the world define my attitude is just not going to fly this year. Here I am, putting a stake in the ground, saying Yes, there have been painful experiences that brought a number of traumatic years and they are in part associated with the holidays. But No, these don't get to forever define me or how I have to be or feel during the holidays. I reject the myth of perfection the world offers up as an attainable goal.
The fact is that December 25-type Christmas is the creation of Madison Ave. My Saviour was born in a barn, in close proximity to animal shit, and He didn't have the benefit of well-baby visits to the local HMO. He has called me by name, He dares call me His friend, I am His workmanship, created for good works, I am a branch of the true vine. He came to redeem my life from the pit. And for that, I say praise you Jesus for calling me up and out of the kingdom of the world into your eternal Kingdom.
My answer to the wounds of the past are the present eternal truths and my position in the midst of them. I rip my eyes off the billboard pitches and onto Him. I shut my ears to the mad, fast-talking TV pitches and tune them into the still, small voice of He in whom I am hidden.
And to all who may happen by here....Merry Christmas! May the warm, accepting love and concern of Jesus for you and yours encourage your heart in these days.
Peacefully yours,
Santiago
Right off the bat, as a warning/disclaimer, I can tell you that this may not be all that edifying to read....informative of some of my history that has produced it's share of gnarliness, pain and a wounded twistedness perhaps but edifying....not so much. For some years, the holiday season has been a difficult time to say the least. It took this negative turn for me commencing in 1990, when I became separated and ultimately divorced in 1992. This seemed to act as a small nuclear bomb in all that had formerly contributed to functional family dynamics. Now all the former patterns and arrangements that had proven to work so well over past holiday seasons seemed to instantly dissolve. They were no longer viable for a variety of reasons - all seemingly having to do with the breakup and loss of my former position as in-house father and husband.
The initial years of this were especially dark and, without wanting to sound too dramatic, very traumatizing to me. It's that trauma from years of struggling with this that rears its ugly head at this time of year seeking to claim me and scuttle all joy. God Bless Norman Rockwell and his lovely paintings of intact families. No problems ever seemed to crop up in Rockwell land. There they are, all around the holiday dinner table, both grandparents are present, Dad is at the head of the table carving the perfectly done bird, quarter-size snow flakes flutter down gently just outside the window. If that for a moment could be considered a "deliverable", it has stood in my mind for years as a picture of something that has been so outside my ability to offer.
Now that my girls are grown, much of the pressure of "Will you have the girls?" (Have no idea, their Mom hasn't committed), "What time can you all be over here?" (Don't even know for sure I'll have the girls with me at all) is mercifully gone. Yet now, I am a member of a blended family (please don't get me wrong, I am very thankful for this blessing). Regardless of all the good, there are now 2 sets of traditions, lots of sensitivity and expectations that are fueled by the history of what was... what things used to be. I confess, it all just overwhelms me in ways I find difficult to pinpoint or articulate but are painful nonetheless.
And then, couple into all of the above a general financial tightness (amidst all the frenzied, consumeristic urgings) and the inability to just throw money at all the sticky bits that refuse to flow and I have myself something that falls far short of my favorite time of the year. Bottom line, high expectations with weak ability to fulfill...a lousy formula in any country or time.
For any who may read this who absolutely adore the holiday season, my sympathies if you have allowed yourself to read all of this. It used to be mine too until my 40's when family circumstances took things in undesirable directions. I bless you in your joy at this time of year!
And so my dilemma, how not to be a 200+ pound wet blanket that shuffles along as a gloom monster hoping mainly for January 2 to get here quickly? How to be a blessing and a sharer of joy while simultaneously being in pain? I've been given lots of advice about all this....ranging from just change your attitude, count your blessings, look at the bright side, take it to the Cross, even the always helpful "just get over it". Really, I feel the need for a deeper healing and a redemptive touch somewhere way inside. I am the best around those to whom I have no obligations, who have no particular expectations. But to those I love the most, my family, I am an internal mess in this season, hoping to keep all my issues bottled up but feeling guilty as I see them too often percolating out and spilling forth a dark, bitter froth into their paths.
Since writing the above paragraphs I've let a day go by and have been trying to get my mind right about how to best live and walk beyond the events of the past. I dumped out some of the crap that I wrestle with and apologize for it's stench. But this just can't be allowed to be the last chapter. Lord, give my a grace note here.....
It seems to me that the world system has shanghaied the birth of Jesus and has sought to relentlessly transform the holidays for its own consumeristic purposes. Why do we so often hear the word "perfect" used in conjunction with the ingredients of the holidays? "This year, give her the perfect gift of love from Shane Jewelers". "Serve the perfect appetizers at you holiday parties by using Kraft products." "Perfectly capture this year's festivities on Canons new 850SX". We get a steady inoculation of perfection as the standard that you should strive for to make this year's holiday season the best ever!
Heh, here's the deal. I resent all the ways that I have bought into wanting to provide the perfect gift, the perfect get-together. It's as if I somehow unwittingly assented to view my life and how I 'do' the holiday through this lens of perfection. The world's system is anxious for me to buy into this, to strive, to mightily chase the perfect whatever for my loved ones. As long as they succeed in manipulating me to manically chase after this unachievable holy grail of perfection, the more likely I will maximize my spending by scurrying after the Norm Rockwell Hallmark version of what every good husband, parent and friend would wish to provide to those they love.
Of course the enemy just sits by and undoubtedly chuckles in all this striving and/or lamenting about not making the grade. One way or the other, the accuser just wants to take me out...the means don't matter. "Just get him pinned down under a blanket of crabbiness or depression....i'm not picky".
So, not sharing the internal struggles that accompany this time of the year for me would be less than transparent. But settling for all this and letting the kingdom of the world define my attitude is just not going to fly this year. Here I am, putting a stake in the ground, saying Yes, there have been painful experiences that brought a number of traumatic years and they are in part associated with the holidays. But No, these don't get to forever define me or how I have to be or feel during the holidays. I reject the myth of perfection the world offers up as an attainable goal.
The fact is that December 25-type Christmas is the creation of Madison Ave. My Saviour was born in a barn, in close proximity to animal shit, and He didn't have the benefit of well-baby visits to the local HMO. He has called me by name, He dares call me His friend, I am His workmanship, created for good works, I am a branch of the true vine. He came to redeem my life from the pit. And for that, I say praise you Jesus for calling me up and out of the kingdom of the world into your eternal Kingdom.
My answer to the wounds of the past are the present eternal truths and my position in the midst of them. I rip my eyes off the billboard pitches and onto Him. I shut my ears to the mad, fast-talking TV pitches and tune them into the still, small voice of He in whom I am hidden.
And to all who may happen by here....Merry Christmas! May the warm, accepting love and concern of Jesus for you and yours encourage your heart in these days.
Peacefully yours,
Santiago
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Thank you so very much
I'm in that in-between space on this Thanksgiving holiday....10 of the family headed to our house in about 90 minutes. Did my assigned tasks, took a little nap, have slipped away to my inner sanctum and now sit at what feels like my abandoned blog. I've chattered on before about all that seems to keep me from attempting to lay down any fresh stuff. On one hand, it just feels somehow superfluous. On the other, not aware of having any fresh stuff anyhow. Regardless.... right now I intend to ignore such motivation-stealing thoughts and to simply offer my thanks out into the blogosphere, but mainly to Jesus.
Our family is like many right now...we have our own financial constraints that wax and wane with the ever present tendency to turn overwhelmingly negative. But amidst this all I am thankful that the loving Abba Father is there every time I turn to him with an armful of desparation. In recent weeks, I have observed him make something good out of what appears to be a lost, deader-than-a-door-nail deal gone bad. And from that work of restoration came income like proverbial manna from heaven. Of course I am thankful for this but even more thankful for just knowing He is there, He is in this, He cares, He has a way through the maze.
Cynicism is so pervasive and I find it to be contagious. I pick up a dose of it all too often and it tinges everything within my view. Doesn't just naturally go away either....has to be discovered and then forcefully shown the door. As an oh-so-mature, believing adult, it's not unusual for me to notice that I hunger for something beyond what often feel like simple platitudes that initially sound too trite and not sufficiently potent for my circumstances. You know, trust in the Lord with all your heart, cast all your anxieties upon Him, do not worry about your life. Sometimes they feel about as powerful as grape kool-aid when I'm searching for whiskey. But that's what brings me back to being thankful....I'm thankful for a God who shows infinite patience toward me, who doesn't just harumpph away when I seek for non-existent alternatives to his love and grace. For a Father who waits for me to once again re-discover that he is the only game in town.
I mean it is just so ridiculous....if I am not intentional about casting my life afresh into his arms in the opening seconds of each new morning, I find that over the night I have somehow become what amounts to a practical atheist, sure that I'm alone in all of this. Have to reappropriate my belief and my agreement each and every day. But then thank you Lord, there you are to receive my new affirmations and commitment to following you....Forgive my short memory!
I'm thankful that my oldest daughter has re-discovered you as not only relevant to her life but absolutely necessary. I am thankful that both of my daughters have independently decided that the man who had looked to be the 'one' turns out not necessarily to be that guy after all. Thank you that they discovered this on this side of marriage and not after it was too late. Thank you that my seriously flawed fatherhood is not an obstacle to you!
I'm certainly told that God is big enough for me to be brutally real.....I choose to believe that. So then, I'm thankful that I can admit that being thankful for stuff, although often authentic and natural and just burbling up can also many times feel merely obligatory....like gol' you should be thankful it's not worse or think of those with much less than you. Thankful for not having to pretend that I've arrived someplace that I haven't.
Well, my reading over this post provides proof enough of why there hasn't been more recently. Aware of a kind of rambling funk....ambivalent about thrashing with it in the public forum of blogland....have enough love for others to not want to infect them yet am sincerely wanting to shake off whatever is plaguing me. So here I am, in this case erring on the side of coming out into the hot, bright sun of the holiday season hungry for more joy, more carefreeness,less angst, more contentment...desiring to bring the aroma of Christ but only mustering the stench of a self-stuffed man. Your forebearance please......
Caveat emptor....
Our family is like many right now...we have our own financial constraints that wax and wane with the ever present tendency to turn overwhelmingly negative. But amidst this all I am thankful that the loving Abba Father is there every time I turn to him with an armful of desparation. In recent weeks, I have observed him make something good out of what appears to be a lost, deader-than-a-door-nail deal gone bad. And from that work of restoration came income like proverbial manna from heaven. Of course I am thankful for this but even more thankful for just knowing He is there, He is in this, He cares, He has a way through the maze.
Cynicism is so pervasive and I find it to be contagious. I pick up a dose of it all too often and it tinges everything within my view. Doesn't just naturally go away either....has to be discovered and then forcefully shown the door. As an oh-so-mature, believing adult, it's not unusual for me to notice that I hunger for something beyond what often feel like simple platitudes that initially sound too trite and not sufficiently potent for my circumstances. You know, trust in the Lord with all your heart, cast all your anxieties upon Him, do not worry about your life. Sometimes they feel about as powerful as grape kool-aid when I'm searching for whiskey. But that's what brings me back to being thankful....I'm thankful for a God who shows infinite patience toward me, who doesn't just harumpph away when I seek for non-existent alternatives to his love and grace. For a Father who waits for me to once again re-discover that he is the only game in town.
I mean it is just so ridiculous....if I am not intentional about casting my life afresh into his arms in the opening seconds of each new morning, I find that over the night I have somehow become what amounts to a practical atheist, sure that I'm alone in all of this. Have to reappropriate my belief and my agreement each and every day. But then thank you Lord, there you are to receive my new affirmations and commitment to following you....Forgive my short memory!
I'm thankful that my oldest daughter has re-discovered you as not only relevant to her life but absolutely necessary. I am thankful that both of my daughters have independently decided that the man who had looked to be the 'one' turns out not necessarily to be that guy after all. Thank you that they discovered this on this side of marriage and not after it was too late. Thank you that my seriously flawed fatherhood is not an obstacle to you!
I'm certainly told that God is big enough for me to be brutally real.....I choose to believe that. So then, I'm thankful that I can admit that being thankful for stuff, although often authentic and natural and just burbling up can also many times feel merely obligatory....like gol' you should be thankful it's not worse or think of those with much less than you. Thankful for not having to pretend that I've arrived someplace that I haven't.
Well, my reading over this post provides proof enough of why there hasn't been more recently. Aware of a kind of rambling funk....ambivalent about thrashing with it in the public forum of blogland....have enough love for others to not want to infect them yet am sincerely wanting to shake off whatever is plaguing me. So here I am, in this case erring on the side of coming out into the hot, bright sun of the holiday season hungry for more joy, more carefreeness,less angst, more contentment...desiring to bring the aroma of Christ but only mustering the stench of a self-stuffed man. Your forebearance please......
Caveat emptor....
Saturday, October 11, 2008
And now, for something completely different...
What a journey this life of ours is, heh!? Six weeks go by since last posting and every time it came to my mind it just seemed like the blog thing had played itself out. It felt (feels?) like I processed and regurgitated some past life things and I had said what was there to say. Trying to talk about the present is such a different animal. I keep thinking that I lack enough clarity or perspective on 'now' stuff to even attempt writing about it...like everything is quite jello-like/ever morphing and anything I might have to say would just be obviated within days or weeks anyway so why even go there. Kind of like the weather, if you don't like today's come back tomorrow...it will be different.
But I'm back today clattering the keyboard because a passionate breeze has captured my attention and I want to pay it heed...to give it some expression, to breathe some life into it. Why? Because it seems just too vital to let it pass and die a natural death. Or worse, to intentionally assassinate it and bury it in the great graveyard of personal disappointments and various failures to launch.
I hurt.....Deep inside I ache. I am aware even of rage. I want more! I must have more! (Just above I said a "passionate breeze has captured my attention". Breeze my ass, it feels more like a frightening tsunami.) I seemed to have stopped just long enough to look inside my rumbling book of life and came away seeing something that just can't go on. I have been living way too long with an attitude of resignation. Somewhere along the path I exchanged daring to desire for the mere discipline of duty. My dutifulness feels not longer sufficient to support life. On the contrary, it squelches it like a dry wind eventually snuffs out the delicate wildflower.
Frankly, I don't see what I am muttering about clearly at all. I feel like a blind man aware he has landed in a not-good-room but clueless just how to find his way out. He taps madly at the confining walls looking for an exit. Similarly, I tap at these lettered keys looking to express what feels elusive, even dangerous.
In just a few months, at least technically, I qualify for early retirement benefits from SS (funny, that's what the Nazi's elite troops were known by).The fact that something about that is comforting pisses me off royally! The resigned me hears the siren call of this particular exit strategy and hungers for something it represents. For the game to be over, for the striving and scrabbling for survival to fade to black. To somehow magically be transported to Playa del Carmen to endlessly gaze at the mesmerizing blue of the Caribbean. Heh, nothing really wrong with all of that on one level but it's not where my true heart lies. I don't want my main desire to be for some kind of cessation! The system of the world feels like it would have me consider being shelved, to take my place in some obscure SKU location in a spent-life warehouse somewhere and live off the best memories I am able to pitifully dredge up. No life in that. It is mislabelled...it's death!
There are questions that are like diagnostic litmus indicators for me. "What makes you come alive?" "What are your passions?" "What do you dream about?" OUCH!! OW! They hurt! The poser in me can come up with answers that sound valid enough but the true me recognizes that my answer drawers are really quite empty in these categories. It feels like they have been robbed, plundered by the stuff of life. No, that's not quite right. That sounds like I've been victimized by some force outside me. More accurately, I have emptied those dream and passion drawers as a twisted strategic response to the lies I have been bamboozled by, the agreements I have made.
Regardless, I am aware that I have been dreamless too long. I have squelched desire too long. It is not in line with how I believe my Creator intended it to be for me. He came that I might have life and to have it abundantly. I confess that I have become aware that I am famished for more life! I must have more life! Jesus, you are the source of my life...that is not religious, that is fact. Here my cry Father and show me where I have missed your yellow brick trail. I fear I have abandoned desire and called it sanctification. Father me along in my desire to re-appropiate your heart vitality, a fresh sense of joy that has been lost. Keep me from prematurely burying this desire to desire for fear of disappointment. Forgive me for not trusting you fully, for my unbelief, for my fear that you are in someway indifferent towards all this. I throw myself into your arms Lord...I am as desperate for what you mean by 'life' as a drowning man for oxygen.
Come Lord Jesus come!
But I'm back today clattering the keyboard because a passionate breeze has captured my attention and I want to pay it heed...to give it some expression, to breathe some life into it. Why? Because it seems just too vital to let it pass and die a natural death. Or worse, to intentionally assassinate it and bury it in the great graveyard of personal disappointments and various failures to launch.
I hurt.....Deep inside I ache. I am aware even of rage. I want more! I must have more! (Just above I said a "passionate breeze has captured my attention". Breeze my ass, it feels more like a frightening tsunami.) I seemed to have stopped just long enough to look inside my rumbling book of life and came away seeing something that just can't go on. I have been living way too long with an attitude of resignation. Somewhere along the path I exchanged daring to desire for the mere discipline of duty. My dutifulness feels not longer sufficient to support life. On the contrary, it squelches it like a dry wind eventually snuffs out the delicate wildflower.
Frankly, I don't see what I am muttering about clearly at all. I feel like a blind man aware he has landed in a not-good-room but clueless just how to find his way out. He taps madly at the confining walls looking for an exit. Similarly, I tap at these lettered keys looking to express what feels elusive, even dangerous.
In just a few months, at least technically, I qualify for early retirement benefits from SS (funny, that's what the Nazi's elite troops were known by).The fact that something about that is comforting pisses me off royally! The resigned me hears the siren call of this particular exit strategy and hungers for something it represents. For the game to be over, for the striving and scrabbling for survival to fade to black. To somehow magically be transported to Playa del Carmen to endlessly gaze at the mesmerizing blue of the Caribbean. Heh, nothing really wrong with all of that on one level but it's not where my true heart lies. I don't want my main desire to be for some kind of cessation! The system of the world feels like it would have me consider being shelved, to take my place in some obscure SKU location in a spent-life warehouse somewhere and live off the best memories I am able to pitifully dredge up. No life in that. It is mislabelled...it's death!
There are questions that are like diagnostic litmus indicators for me. "What makes you come alive?" "What are your passions?" "What do you dream about?" OUCH!! OW! They hurt! The poser in me can come up with answers that sound valid enough but the true me recognizes that my answer drawers are really quite empty in these categories. It feels like they have been robbed, plundered by the stuff of life. No, that's not quite right. That sounds like I've been victimized by some force outside me. More accurately, I have emptied those dream and passion drawers as a twisted strategic response to the lies I have been bamboozled by, the agreements I have made.
Regardless, I am aware that I have been dreamless too long. I have squelched desire too long. It is not in line with how I believe my Creator intended it to be for me. He came that I might have life and to have it abundantly. I confess that I have become aware that I am famished for more life! I must have more life! Jesus, you are the source of my life...that is not religious, that is fact. Here my cry Father and show me where I have missed your yellow brick trail. I fear I have abandoned desire and called it sanctification. Father me along in my desire to re-appropiate your heart vitality, a fresh sense of joy that has been lost. Keep me from prematurely burying this desire to desire for fear of disappointment. Forgive me for not trusting you fully, for my unbelief, for my fear that you are in someway indifferent towards all this. I throw myself into your arms Lord...I am as desperate for what you mean by 'life' as a drowning man for oxygen.
Come Lord Jesus come!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Yes it's mine...I own it.
So I'm on a mid-week run at work and I see this little vignette played out. Big sister and little brother are riding their bikes down the sidewalk across the street from me. Their mother is walking and she is maybe a block and a half behind the kids. The brother and sister get to an intersection. There is no stop sign or anything, just a residential area where a side street feeds into a slightly more busy street.
Anyway, the sister dutifully stops to look both ways but little brother just keeps going. His sister is yelling for him to STOP! To no avail. At last he stops his over sized bike (he's about 7 and his bike is too big) right in the middle of the street. His sister is so angry....the kind of anger that rises from what had just moments ago been fear. She's lecturing him, looking back and calling for her mom who is outside the range of help or even hearing. And the boy, he pleads his innocence and blames it all on his brakes. Yep, he uses the ol' brake defense in hopes of shutting down the rain of words that is pounding down upon him.
Of course, all of this happens in about 10 or 15 seconds. I find myself chuckling. There was no imminent danger but sis was correct on the principle level. Brother needs to be looking both ways lest he find his young little life prematurely snuffed out. The thing I found humorous was the passion the boy displayed in making his case that his brakes absolutely had failed him and that it was not his fault. Although I hope it's not the case, this little guy may have just utilized what will ultimately be a lifetime habit of placing himself in the role of victim...just an innocent victim.
My mind wandered off into a flurry of judgemental remembrances for all the people I have observed over my life who never seem to be responsible for anything that comes their way. Somehow, their brakes have failed every time, the dog has eaten the homework yet again, "the man" has taken it to them and even the devil made me do it.
Entire groups of people and organizations do this too. We didn't hit our bottom line because of the economic downturn, our projections are off because of an unavoidable change in an unexpected area. In this election year, we see entire political parties blame the other party for every social ill that has occurred over the last 4 years. I know, I know. There is often plenty of truth to what is cited as the cause for each failing observed.
It's just that I find myself hungering to hear more instances of accepting full responsibility for whatever the outcome. Like I saw when watching the Olympics when a favored athlete or team was defeated and lost the gold medal in an upset. How satisfying to hear an athlete say, "He/she just had a better race", "I made some mistakes and paid the price".
OK, so now I have run a couple of blocks further past the brother and sister incident and have mused about all this lack of accepting accountability that I seem to see as running rampant through life. At this point Jesus joins me on the run...(He does that a lot by the way, I rarely ever really run alone). I hear "So what about you?" And I proceed to find myself busted yet again. Get this, I like to fashion myself as a pretty "the-buck-stops-hear" kind of guy. And yet this tsk-tsking party I was having in my head, this judgement of all the irresponsibility I see swimming around me had somehow served to hoist me up on the bench of the supreme court where I was rendering my verdict on all of the less forthright "out there".
Ladies and gentlemen, I do take full responsibility for being a virtual judging machine. I too have a full measure of the inheritance of Adam and Eve's rebellion and I gorge myself on the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil on a daily basis. Despite my well-intentioned plans to stay on a strict diet of "collapsing all judgment", I find myself breaking my fast with painful regularity. Truth be known, it tires me out. I guess too much trying and not enough being.
The Kingdom I have been delivered into and that I have been called to help advance is not about judgment of others. It's about acceptance, thinking the best of others and putting their interests first. It's an impossible way of life that can only be accomplished by surrendering my rights and depending on the Author of life to empower my living and to give me the capacity to live beyond my own character's abilities. Just wanted to say that I get that and I take full responsibility for each of my actions. Jesus, forgive me for my selfish, self-righteous judgments of others. Have your way in me. I do want to be about your business....you are the hero of this story and I belong to you.
Anyway, the sister dutifully stops to look both ways but little brother just keeps going. His sister is yelling for him to STOP! To no avail. At last he stops his over sized bike (he's about 7 and his bike is too big) right in the middle of the street. His sister is so angry....the kind of anger that rises from what had just moments ago been fear. She's lecturing him, looking back and calling for her mom who is outside the range of help or even hearing. And the boy, he pleads his innocence and blames it all on his brakes. Yep, he uses the ol' brake defense in hopes of shutting down the rain of words that is pounding down upon him.
Of course, all of this happens in about 10 or 15 seconds. I find myself chuckling. There was no imminent danger but sis was correct on the principle level. Brother needs to be looking both ways lest he find his young little life prematurely snuffed out. The thing I found humorous was the passion the boy displayed in making his case that his brakes absolutely had failed him and that it was not his fault. Although I hope it's not the case, this little guy may have just utilized what will ultimately be a lifetime habit of placing himself in the role of victim...just an innocent victim.
My mind wandered off into a flurry of judgemental remembrances for all the people I have observed over my life who never seem to be responsible for anything that comes their way. Somehow, their brakes have failed every time, the dog has eaten the homework yet again, "the man" has taken it to them and even the devil made me do it.
Entire groups of people and organizations do this too. We didn't hit our bottom line because of the economic downturn, our projections are off because of an unavoidable change in an unexpected area. In this election year, we see entire political parties blame the other party for every social ill that has occurred over the last 4 years. I know, I know. There is often plenty of truth to what is cited as the cause for each failing observed.
It's just that I find myself hungering to hear more instances of accepting full responsibility for whatever the outcome. Like I saw when watching the Olympics when a favored athlete or team was defeated and lost the gold medal in an upset. How satisfying to hear an athlete say, "He/she just had a better race", "I made some mistakes and paid the price".
OK, so now I have run a couple of blocks further past the brother and sister incident and have mused about all this lack of accepting accountability that I seem to see as running rampant through life. At this point Jesus joins me on the run...(He does that a lot by the way, I rarely ever really run alone). I hear "So what about you?" And I proceed to find myself busted yet again. Get this, I like to fashion myself as a pretty "the-buck-stops-hear" kind of guy. And yet this tsk-tsking party I was having in my head, this judgement of all the irresponsibility I see swimming around me had somehow served to hoist me up on the bench of the supreme court where I was rendering my verdict on all of the less forthright "out there".
Ladies and gentlemen, I do take full responsibility for being a virtual judging machine. I too have a full measure of the inheritance of Adam and Eve's rebellion and I gorge myself on the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil on a daily basis. Despite my well-intentioned plans to stay on a strict diet of "collapsing all judgment", I find myself breaking my fast with painful regularity. Truth be known, it tires me out. I guess too much trying and not enough being.
The Kingdom I have been delivered into and that I have been called to help advance is not about judgment of others. It's about acceptance, thinking the best of others and putting their interests first. It's an impossible way of life that can only be accomplished by surrendering my rights and depending on the Author of life to empower my living and to give me the capacity to live beyond my own character's abilities. Just wanted to say that I get that and I take full responsibility for each of my actions. Jesus, forgive me for my selfish, self-righteous judgments of others. Have your way in me. I do want to be about your business....you are the hero of this story and I belong to you.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Nothing really...just a quick note.
So a month has gone by...strange how your own blog can feel like having a job. or a loved one, something you are responsible to care for and feed. More than once, I have gone to bed and one of those fleeting thoughts that close out the day would be, "man I haven't blogged in weeks" and I would feel the guilt that comes with abandonment. Oh for cryin'- out- loud, is this not the pathetic hallmark of a striving male adult who means well and works diligently to keep all the balls in the air and fights continually to keep things from flying apart.
So I sit here in my cool basement office, put together by my loving wife as a gift to me, (actually one of the best gifts I ever received, the gift of personal space) and write mainly to break the absence from blogdom. In the past I would be driven to blog by thoughts that seemed to cry out for articulation, to be birthed in the hopes that once they were expressed they would become clearer and of more value in my sojourn. Not this time. This is just bloggin' for bloggin'-sake, something to break the slump of expression and re-ignite my quest for transparent authenticity.
So life's circumstances just kind of go on, regardless of your readiness level...Sandi's parent are both home now. For the moment, things are relatively stable and our involvement, though significant, is not at the fever pitch it had been. My Mom is dealing with shingles in the left eye and scalp region. At 91, a son can't help but wince at the odd combination of basic health and independence overlayed by a frail vulnerableness that reduces her ability to roll with life's punches. Caring for surviving parents can turn out to be a big deal when you get to the stage of life I am waking to each morning.
Couple these responsibilities with the weekly efforts to make a living at a 100% commission job and the enemy has plenty of handles and fodder to constantly offer me a background filled with worrisome noise and lies. My intentionality to be fostering a closer walk with God, to practice the presence of Christ, requires a near constant effort to shut down the senses of dread, angst and anxiety that stands at my door and knocks. You see, there are 2 standing at that door knocking and which I let in, which I believe to be true. determines the trajectory of the day.
Summer is so many peoples favorite season. It's not mine...too hot, to much burning sun trying to suck the moisture out of every living thing, especially our lawn. Trying to keep the grass green is a foolish hobby, I admit it. But I have fallen prey to trying to outwit nature's attempt to torch the front bank that sits at 45 degrees to the sun all day being tortured by the relentless rays. I read somewhere that our modern day sod really hearkens from very wet parts of the world. They require amazing amounts of water to stay green and for an old hose dragger like me, my efforts seem pathetic and worthy only of my embarrassment.
The talk of recession, the rising costs of everything, the lack of any visible relief on the horizon, these mark the news as reporters trip over themselves to tell us how bad it's getting and that we ain't seen nothin' yet. Taking a fast from the news is one idea for a cheap sort of vacation. Let them yammer on without me listening on or reading. Yet, the dismal financial outlook is also kind of a social leveler and acts to bring us together and give us all (well not the folks that live in North Oaks!) more of life in common. Instead of just some people feeling the pinch, it becomes a much more universally-felt experience and brings us together....sort of. The one redeeming feature to me is how it causes more people to be more deliberate about life, it slows down the consumption fever that is so easy to catch. When people start switching from Target to Walmart, from Outback to McDonalds, who's not to argue that things indeed seem to be winding down and the end feels like it's rushing toward us like a run-away train.
And so I spend my days with the pursuit of intimacy in walking through all of this with God, to loving my wife well, to chasing a living by matching qualified candidates with medical sales opportunities, by concentrating on keeping all the family plates spinning on each of their wobbling sticks and by nipping away at summer projects that feed my sense of simple accomplishment. An ordinary man going through an unspectacular life hoping not to miss the main priorities and hoping not to come out the other side having spent too much energy on mere survival and not enough on abandoned living. Attempting not to negatively effect those closest to me with my disciplined approach to "gettin' er' done!". To take time to see others, to slow my fevered pace to check things off the To Do list enough to be available, to be present in the now, to live in the moment. To quell my pull toward cynicism and to actually live (not just talk) in accordance with the truth I profess. Certainly not newsworthy stuff but it's all I've got for now and it does at least serve to break my 4-week bloggin' slump.
Time to get the birds some more food..... They neither sow nor reap yet......
So I sit here in my cool basement office, put together by my loving wife as a gift to me, (actually one of the best gifts I ever received, the gift of personal space) and write mainly to break the absence from blogdom. In the past I would be driven to blog by thoughts that seemed to cry out for articulation, to be birthed in the hopes that once they were expressed they would become clearer and of more value in my sojourn. Not this time. This is just bloggin' for bloggin'-sake, something to break the slump of expression and re-ignite my quest for transparent authenticity.
So life's circumstances just kind of go on, regardless of your readiness level...Sandi's parent are both home now. For the moment, things are relatively stable and our involvement, though significant, is not at the fever pitch it had been. My Mom is dealing with shingles in the left eye and scalp region. At 91, a son can't help but wince at the odd combination of basic health and independence overlayed by a frail vulnerableness that reduces her ability to roll with life's punches. Caring for surviving parents can turn out to be a big deal when you get to the stage of life I am waking to each morning.
Couple these responsibilities with the weekly efforts to make a living at a 100% commission job and the enemy has plenty of handles and fodder to constantly offer me a background filled with worrisome noise and lies. My intentionality to be fostering a closer walk with God, to practice the presence of Christ, requires a near constant effort to shut down the senses of dread, angst and anxiety that stands at my door and knocks. You see, there are 2 standing at that door knocking and which I let in, which I believe to be true. determines the trajectory of the day.
Summer is so many peoples favorite season. It's not mine...too hot, to much burning sun trying to suck the moisture out of every living thing, especially our lawn. Trying to keep the grass green is a foolish hobby, I admit it. But I have fallen prey to trying to outwit nature's attempt to torch the front bank that sits at 45 degrees to the sun all day being tortured by the relentless rays. I read somewhere that our modern day sod really hearkens from very wet parts of the world. They require amazing amounts of water to stay green and for an old hose dragger like me, my efforts seem pathetic and worthy only of my embarrassment.
The talk of recession, the rising costs of everything, the lack of any visible relief on the horizon, these mark the news as reporters trip over themselves to tell us how bad it's getting and that we ain't seen nothin' yet. Taking a fast from the news is one idea for a cheap sort of vacation. Let them yammer on without me listening on or reading. Yet, the dismal financial outlook is also kind of a social leveler and acts to bring us together and give us all (well not the folks that live in North Oaks!) more of life in common. Instead of just some people feeling the pinch, it becomes a much more universally-felt experience and brings us together....sort of. The one redeeming feature to me is how it causes more people to be more deliberate about life, it slows down the consumption fever that is so easy to catch. When people start switching from Target to Walmart, from Outback to McDonalds, who's not to argue that things indeed seem to be winding down and the end feels like it's rushing toward us like a run-away train.
And so I spend my days with the pursuit of intimacy in walking through all of this with God, to loving my wife well, to chasing a living by matching qualified candidates with medical sales opportunities, by concentrating on keeping all the family plates spinning on each of their wobbling sticks and by nipping away at summer projects that feed my sense of simple accomplishment. An ordinary man going through an unspectacular life hoping not to miss the main priorities and hoping not to come out the other side having spent too much energy on mere survival and not enough on abandoned living. Attempting not to negatively effect those closest to me with my disciplined approach to "gettin' er' done!". To take time to see others, to slow my fevered pace to check things off the To Do list enough to be available, to be present in the now, to live in the moment. To quell my pull toward cynicism and to actually live (not just talk) in accordance with the truth I profess. Certainly not newsworthy stuff but it's all I've got for now and it does at least serve to break my 4-week bloggin' slump.
Time to get the birds some more food..... They neither sow nor reap yet......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)