Bees in My Bonnet

 Part of being highly distractable is that when something is mentioned that has a whole category of memory or feeling, the mind takes a small hiatus - a short adventure into the realm of everything-in-that-category. This happened to me on Sunday when the sermon was regarding the 10 lepers (or, more accurately, the 9 and the 1). He was talking about what gratitude looks like, and trying to help us appreciate, in some small measure, what having leprosy was like in those days. He started saying how it was a socially isolating disease, a disease of separation, loneliness, scorn, rejection, humiliation. They had to walk about if they encountered healthy others, by calling out, 'unclean' to warn people to stay away. And he went on to focus on the theme of his sermon, which was gratitude. But I was already captivated, and brought to tears.  (There is something very healing about church: I go there to cry, then wait a whole week to return, only to cry again).   I believe God...

  Click here for the Previous Post - Jenny story (7) Jenny Even though I am Sarah's friend, she often thinks she doesn't have friends. That's why Chica - her dog - and I are so close to her. Because she can tell us anything. She can cry and be upset. She can tell me who she's mad at. She can even throw me against a wall (I don't really mind; I just flop down and then she feels really bad). Sarah has red hair, like mine, and people say that comes with a hot temper. Sometimes people tell her that and tease her, and I don't know if it's true, but in her case, it seems to be. I think it's more that she just feels so different and maybe because she's the youngest in the family and in the grade she's in at school, people tend to not take her seriously. Not all  people, of course. There are wonderfully kind people who keep their eye out for her. Sometimes Sarah goes on outings without me. She tells me about them afterwards. She showed me this picture of...

Once upon a time there was a girl and she loved her father very much.  That girl was me, and I'd like to tell you about the man I called, 'Dad.' But, what can I tell you about my Dad?  You know him - have heard so much already.  But you can tell something about a person by what moves him - to tears, to anger, to action and where he finds joy. You know about Dad and his work - the stuff he did 'out there' (and sometimes it was way out there ).  But let me peel back the curtains a bit for you now - a behind-the-scenes peek into what it was like to be his daughter.  To many of you he was 'Sheldon the missionary' or, as I like to say, 'Sheldon, the pillar of Hong Kong' or 'Sheldon, Mr. Beautiful' (as he often introduced himself this way)!  To me, he was simply my Dad.  As a kid, I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to the stuff he did outside our home.  It can be tempting to over-focus on ministry to the neglect of family; thinking the ...

The hospital where Dad was born is now a museum. When we found out about that as teenagers we relentlessly teased him as being a product of another time and an archaic thing that should be a public curiosity. All joking aside, I truly believe he is worthy of public curiosity and praise for the many qualities I admire in him. I don't just say that glibly - it is true. Did you know that even though he performed poorly in school (much like myself, in fact!) he also would read encyclopedia's for FUN?! In this way, he gleaned and grew in knowledge in such broad areas and developed the uncanny ability to interact with almost anyone on their level - from PhD's to little children. I've watched Dad have intelligent, stimulating conversation on almost any topic - from quarks and nutrinos (these are some kind of sub-atomic unit of some sort), to economics and politics, to Russian history, to how to solve a simple math problem with a fourth grader. He had trained as a fourth grade ...