It's a Beautiful Day in This Neigborhood...

Remember Mr. Rogers' opening song? I must've sung it a jillion times to my children when they were small.

"It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?"

I can see him zipping his sweater even now. My youngest kids are teenagers, so we haven't watched Mr. Rogers for a long time. But this past week that jingle came to mind a lot.

I'm on the board of a community development corporation and we're requesting a rezoning of three small residential lots to accommodate an economic development project. I won't bore you with lots of details, but the project involves an anchor retail store, five store front shops, and five 3-bedroom apartments targeted for use by families who are preparing to transition from renting into homeownership, and two handicap accessible apartments as well as a job training/career resource center. We hope to bring more economic viability to this part of our community. The other seven lots we'll use for the project are already zoned commercial.

I wouldn't be a board member if I think it was a neat project. However, we've encountered some folks who oppose it. What they lack in numbers, they compensate for in volume, which has registered in the chambers of our local government (why is it that the "not-in-favor" folks always seem so loud?). The planning and zoning commission tabled their decision on whether or not to recommend the rezoning to city council until we have demonstrated that we have a lot of grass roots support. Our organization has to ante up, so we've hit the streets.

My house is across the street from the property in question, which means the people most affected by the development are also my neighbors. I have enjoyed meals with some of them and have had long conversations over the fence or on my big front porch with quite a few others, but I merely smile and wave to the majority, barely knowing their names. So "hitting the streets" means I'm getting to know this last category of neighbors better.

This week, while soliciting signatures in favor of the rezoning, my husband and I met a hard-working woman who is raising her three neices on one income. We spoke at length about the issues facing our economically depressed neighborhood. This homeowner has some strong opinions and some helpful suggestions. We met a long-time resident and small business owner who is networking with other owners to strengthen their businesses and create more opportunities for one another. No shortage of opinions and ideas there either. He remembers a time when this neighborhood had more minority-owned small businesses sprinkled among the residential areas and is eager to see that return.

There was a retired couple whose home sits on the lot right next to the proposed development. They invited us in and asked us to sit for a while and have some iced tea. And there's the minority grad student who grew up in a house just a half block from ours and has a deep love for the neighborhood. She's studying criminal justice and is headed to law school. When she related that she still encounters professors who don't think she "belongs" in their classes, I suggested she ask them if they could spell C-o-n-d-o-l-e-e-z-z-a, and we all laughed.

There was also the mom with six small children right around the corner from me. Found out they could use the little red bicycle that we have been wanting to give away. She was concerned about the drug dealers and her kids' safety. I'm pretty sure she'd join with me in a project to control the litter along our streets, too.

I'm so glad that this rezoning issue "forced" me to collect signatures and meet more of the folks who live nearby. They are interesting, diverse, and friendly. We mentioned to several that we ought to have a block party BBQ later in the summer and get better acquainted. Maybe we could set up tables on the empty lot...

"...I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.
So, let's make the most of this beautiful day.
Since we're together we might as well say:


Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?
Won't you please,
Won't you please?
Please won't you be my neighbor?"

On Courage

Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.

-- C.S. Lewis

Team Hoyt

Every once in a while I experience something that I just know I'll remember for as long as I live.

Because I was so young at the time, I didn't realize I was having such a moment when I heard that John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Along with millions of other Americans, I will never forget where I was and what I was doing when I heard the tragic news. (On the school staircase, returning to the classroom after lunch. A student who had gone home for lunch returned with the grim report.)

I've walked across a stage to receive diplomas, walked down the aisle and said "I do", and been handed my just-born infants to hold. After a while you begin to realize when you're experiencing an unforgettable moment.

Some have been on the negative end of the spectrum. Going 60 mph down the highway in the passenger seat of my friend's car and being hit head-on by a drunk driver. Getting a frantic phone call from a good friend that my 4-year-old, at whose home he was staying, had spiked a 106 F. temperature. Attending a friend's funeral -- a young father who had buried his wife and two sons during the previous two years, all having succumbed to AIDS. And 9-11.

A variety of other permanently etched moments, not at all in chronological order:

• Hearing Neil Armstrong's famous words through a scratchy transmission back to earth from the moon one August evening in 1969. "One small step..." (Mind-bending.)
• Watching the sunrise from atop Haleakala, a volcanic crater on Maui. (Breath-taking.)
• Being caught in a South Dakota blizzard for four days in a single wide trailer while visiting another family. (Seemingly endless.)
• The take-off on my very first jet airplane trip. (I was 16. It was a TWA flight to Los Angeles. I was leaving home to go away to college. Thrilling.)
• White water rafting on the Youghiogheny River in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania. (Petrifying.)
• Trying to whisk my two small children out of the car and into the house as a tornado bore down on our township, leaving our street completely impassable, littered with huge uprooted trees. (Major adrenaline surge.)

It happened again this weekend. This time what I "experienced" was a video clip. I will never forget it. Used at the conclusion of a sermon, the illustration captured the essence of God's all-sufficient grace for any and all life circumstances (II Corinthians 12:9).

I wish I could link you directly to the video, but the best I can do is to direct you to the website where it's available for purchase. The story and accompanying photos you'll find there are compelling, but I promise you'll love the video.

For years there have been just three people at the very top of my list of special heroes -- those whose personal qualities and accomplishments most inspire me to live beyond myself. But now I have four. I'd like to introduce you to my newest living hero, Dick Hoyt.

Who is Gelett Burgess?

I'll bet you don't recognize the name. Neither did I. But I'll bet you are familiar with some of his work.

Mr. Burgess left New England with a B.S. from MIT in the 1880's and became a technical drawing instructor at the University of California, Berkley. He abruptly left the employ of the university following the toppling of several Bay area statues which Burgess considered eyesores. Apparently the administration took a dim view of his public vandalism (despite the fact that his students cheered him on).

This prompted a career change which led to him becoming the editor of The Lark, a lighthearted and slightly whimsical literary magazine. In this capacity, he penned, then published a little verse that would eventually become quite famous:

I never saw a purple cow,
I never hope to see one.
But I can tell you anyhow
I'd rather see than be one!

The public lavished attention on this frivolous little verse to the exclusion of his more "literary" contributions. Burgess revealed his frustration with this phenomenon in the final issue of The Lark:

Confession: and a Portrait Too, Upon a Background that I Rue

Ah yes, I wrote the "Purple Cow" --
I'm sorry, now, I wrote it;
But I can tell you anyhow,
I'll kill you if you quote it!

Burgess coined the word "blurb" in 1907 when he attributed some rather complimentary jacket copy found in one of his books to a Miss Belinda Blurb. He also created a syndicated comic strip called "Goops" in 1924 which ran a couple of years.

Frank Gelett Burgess (1866 - 1951). Artist, art critic, poet, author and humorist. Think it's safe to quote The Purple Cow yet?

[I recently came across a stack of yellowed Writer's Digest magazines I hadn't loooked at since 1993. An article by Linda Boch sent me in search of more trivia on Mr. Burgess. And yes, I pitched the mags.]

Math Was Never My Favorite Subject

[Can't recall who sent me this bit of email humor -- made me think of my school days. ]

My Lily Friend

Last week when I dropped my good friend off at her house, she invited me to take a quick peek at her back yard before driving off. Her Tiger Lilies were in full bloom, surrounded by lush Hosta, ringing a very large shade tree. It was indeed an exquisite and gloriously beautiful sight.

However, my heart was captured by some dark green leaves in a black plastic gallon flower pot sitting next to another tree awaiting transplanting -- some Lilies of the Valley that a mutual friend had brought from a patch in her yard. Apparently they had been very difficult to dig up, the roots being very thick and tightly intertwined. I lingered momentarily, commenting that Lilies of the Valley were one of my very favorite flowers as a little girl.

A day or two later, the giver of the transplants sent me a message in which she briefly commented on the flowers she had dug up and given away. (She'd also brought me a small volunteer Red Bud sapling from her yard at just about the same time.) I really yearned to ask for some of the Lilies of the Valley too. But I knew it would be greedy of me to ask, especially since they had been so stubborn to deal with. I decided to wait until another season to beg some.

My phone rang yesterday. It was good friend No. 1 saying she had a black plastic bucket for me to pick up. As it turns out, she had decided to only plant half of those Lilies of the Valley. I was to come get the rest so I could have some in my yard too. I squealed in delight. Might as well have been my birthday. I thanked her profusely and promised to stop by very soon.

She figured the lilies would spread out in my yard at the same time as they spread out in hers and that way we'd both happily enjoy. It's no wonder she keeps landing at the top of my cherished friends list. She and I didn't actually know each other when we were little girls, but if we had, I just know she'd have been the kind of friend who'd have offered me some of her candy. I just know it.

Now every spring when the little patch of deep green leaves and fragrant tiny white bells shoot up on the shady side of my house, I'll not only be wafted back to the halcyon days of my childhood, but I'll simultaneously feel a gentle tug on heartstrings that have been knitted, through the gift of these posies, to the heart of my Lily of the Valley Buddy.

How Much is Enough?

The opposite of poverty is not wealth. It's "enough." "Enough" indicates the condition of wholeness, adequacy, and having one's needs met.

– Wess Stafford, in Christianity Today

Here's my quote about poverty: experiencing genuine unmet need earlier in one's life often results in an attitude that causes a person to amass a lot of "stuff" in an attempt to ward off ever having to experience this privation again. There are often very legitimate triggers for hoarding.

I've known people who were hungry, went without needed clothing, and were penniless during the Great Depression of the 30's. Even though their financial circumstances shifted dramatically later in life, they still tended to accummulated much more "stuff" than they actually needed. Boomers were raised by these folks who went through this decade of destitution. Their attitudes about "stuff" were powerfully shaped by an encounter with gnawing want and have been, to a degree, communicated and transferred to my generation. And we no doubt passed a bit of it along too.

However, may I suggest that we have the freedom to examine and evaluate the effectiveness of these attitudes for us today. When we amass more "stuff" than we need, in an effort to protect ourselves from "want", we are robbing ourselves of living in the present. Here's how:

The thought of keeping things "because I might need them some day" is anchored firmly in the past (reliving the history/memories of not having one's needs met) as well as in the future (fear of not having enough in the coming days, weeks, months or years). It denies a person the opportunity to experience now. Today. Right this minute.

If you have inherited this self-defeating attitude about "stuff", perhaps you'd benefit from setting a timer for 15 minutes and clearing out one of your "stashes". Go through your "stuff" with an eye toward hanging on to only that which will fill your immediate need. That which you really like and enjoy. The rest can be pitched (if it's really junk) or shared with someone who can use your surplus right now. That could be someone you know who enjoys your particular kind of "stuff" or perhaps a charity. Either way, you'll bless someone else and free yourself to live more fully in the present with one stroke.

Here's a resource that you might find helpful. It's a way to recycle your "stuff" and make sure it goes to someone who really wants it:

www.freecycle.org

You sign up to participate in a local group, advertising your still usable "stuff", blessing others. The one rule is that the "stuff" has to be free. (Just make sure you don't "buy" more "stuff" to replace what you just released!)

I know this is an issue for me, and I'm pretty sure it's an issue for quite a few other folks. Otherwise there wouldn't be so many personal organizers making a living helping people excavate themselves out from under their mounds of "stuff". And there wouldn't be lots of books at Barnes and Noble or reality TV shows on this topic.

Let's prepare to enjoy the present more fully. Get ready. Get set. GO!

My Brother, My Hero

Just got back from a visit with my mom and dad who live a couple hours away. An unexpected treat was my older brother popping in for a couple hours while we were there.

This is not just any ole' big brother. No, he's much more than ordinary.

This is the older brother who lunged across the back seat of our family's red Rambler (there's a flash from the past!) to grab the handle and somehow pull shut the the car door that had accidentally swung open while we were cruising down the highway one night when I was about 5 years old. His stunning and decisive action persuaded me that he was indeed brave and valiant, since it was obvious to me that he had spared my young life. (Remember, these were the days waaaaay before seatbelts were even installed, much less mandated.)

It wasn't just his courage that won my youthful devotion. Another time he and I and two boys who lived in the other half of our duplex were walking home from the public swimming pool. I had purchased a five cent package of candy at the concession stand and was lagging behind as I struggled with the cellophane wrapper, eager to savor those little caramel morsels. Suddenly I looked up and realized I was surrounded by about three very big kids I'd never met (maybe ten years old -- huge to a five or six year old). They grabbed the candy out of my hands and ran. I was shocked, frightened, and violated. I can't recall whether or not I was hysterical or even crying when I caught up with my brother and told him what had happened, but I do remember clearly that he immediately gave me his package of caramels. It was a major consolation to know that I had someone in my life who, though he might not be able to fix everything in my world, would extend compassion to me in my troubles.

While I'm gushing, I'll also add:

• he could flip his eyelids inside out and act like a "monster" (way cooooool, in my young estimation)
• he could walk across the backyard on his hands (still impressive in my book)
• it was he who informed me of the meaning of my name Linda ("pretty"!) as soon as he learned it in high school Spanish class, reversing my opinion (up till then I hadn't been too fond of my name since it had become so popular that I was never the only Linda in any class, all the way through school)
• he endeared me by learning to play the song "Linda" by memory on his trombone and serenaded me down the hall (meanwhile the lyrics would float through my mind: "When I fall asleep, I never count sheep, I only just dream about Linda...")
• the first major purchase he made after getting a full-time summer job at age 16 was to buy me a girl's bicycle -- up to that point, every bike I'd ever had was a hand-me-down boy's bike

AND...

• he mailed me a beautiful leather-bound Bible from college -- the first new one I'd ever owned; I still have it and cherish it

My big brother can be counted on to demur whenever I make a big deal about any of the above. I guess he figures he was just doing what older siblings do for the younger ones. But because of all that stuff and much, much more he was, is, and always will be one of my all-time hero/good guys.

I love you, Doug.

[If any of this makes you think of a sibling who shared with you, comforted you, protected you or was just plain good to you in general -- why not send a quick note (or call) and let him or her know how blessed you are to have them?]

Z-z-z-z-z

"Sure glad Daddy uses Odor Eaters!"

"I think I'll lay my head down here for just a second... "

"My chopsticks are getting hhhheeeeeaaaaavvvvvyyyy........"

All pooped out.

[These photos came to me in an email from a friend. I wish they had come along with credits to the photographers.]

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things...

This Sunday will be my wedding anniversary, so this post is inspired by a letter I wrote my husband in February, right after Valentine's Day. He and I were enrolled in and were also facilitators of a marriage enrichment class at the time.

Because of things we were learning in the class, we had just broken through a major communication barrier in our relationship. I hasten to add that this only happened because we worked very hard to obtain it. We waded into issues that had snuck into our relationship decades ago and become deeply ingrained patterns. To address them required facing old hurts and misunderstandings. However, at the conclusion of the process, the result was delightfully satisfying.

I began to wonder why we couldn't have discovered these new strategies earlier -- our first three decades of marriage would have been so different. I began to feel sadness and regret when I suddenly realized: we are not behind! This is a very good time to begin communicating more effectively and on a deeper level. In fact, we're just in time: in time to model and pass this new behavior on to our four children, in time to allow this new intimacy be the backdrop for the earlier 33 1/2 years. How rich.

It was my Sweetie who began the process by stepping out in courage, gentleness, truthfulness, and hope. This freed me to match the behavior he was modelling and be vulnerable too. In the letter, I was expressing my appreciation and gratitude for his willingness to blaze a new trail for us, ushering in this greater connectedness and emotional intimacy. I compared my experience of our new relationship to some of my favorite things:

• raspberry swirl cheesecake
• filet mignon, medium rare
• Asti Spumanti
• chocolate covered macadamia nuts
• pineapple [picked and eaten in Hawaii]
• a ride on a catamaran
• watching hummingbirds
• stroking the soft fur on the kitty's tummy
• puddle jumping
• spotting a rainbow
• blowing dandelion puffs
• watching a helium balloon float up and up until you can't see it any more
• taking off your shoes and walking in warm sand
• making snowballs
• eating snow cones
• sitting on our big front porch during a soft rain
• rocking a baby to sleep
• nothing we've ever had before, even during the very best of times

Keeping with the whole Sound of Music theme, I'm quite sure I didn't do anything in my youth or childhood to deserve this sweetness, yet here I am smack dab in the middle of it. Wow. I think I'll re-up.

Fear Not

I received this intriguing advice recently in a group email from author Donna Partow (a friend and I have been going through her study entitled Becoming a Vessel God Can Use):

Surviving menopause gracefully should perhaps be your number one incentive to obey God's oft repeated command: Do not fear.
As we know, every instruction God gives is for our good. In the case of fear, there are spiritual, emotional and physical reasons. Fear releases a chemical into our bloodstream called adrenaline.

Now this is important: before you were ever born, the precise amount of adrenaline your body would ever produce was hardwired into your DNA. Once you have wiped out your adrenal glands (a state called adrenal exhaustion), there is no natural way to remedy the situation.

It so happens that proper adrenal function is an essential requirement for a smooth transition through 'the change of life.'

Ms. Partow's comments made me think of Dr. Hans Selye, author of Susccess Without Distress and world renowned biologist who devoted his life to describing the physiology of stress. He defined stress as "the nonspecific response of the body to any demand made upon it." He theorized that each person is born with a genetically determined amount of "adaptation energy" -- the energy available in our bodies to adjust to stressors we encounter. When we exhaust all stores of the deep adaptation energy, according to Selye, we become senile and die. Interesting.

Then it would stand to reason that a repetitive fear response -- remember the "fight or flight response" to distress? -- would make huge demands on our stores of adaptation energy. Research suggests that there are superficial stores of this energy, which is readily available and can be replenished with adequate rest and diversion from the stressor, as well as the deep stores that are not replaceable.

I'm not sure if Dr. Selye and Ms. Partow are referring to the same thing or not. But it seems to me that if a person becomes completely adrenally exhausted (and adrenaline is the chemical released into the bloodstream when one experiences fear) and consequently has inadequate resources to respond to the hormonal changes (as in lots of hot flashes), it sounds an awful lot like a depletion of the deep adaptation energy reserves.

It seems just plain smart to address any recurring or ongoing fears no matter what. But to also enable a smoother passage through the menopausal season of life is a win-win in my book.


Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior... Since you were precious in My sight, you have been honored and I have I loved you. Therefore I will give men for you, and people for your life. Fear not, for I am with you...

-- Isaiah 43:1b-5a