Camp HappyBadFun!

The Good Life

For those of you who don't get out much, Oddybobo has been sharing the very moving story of her recent trip to her ancestral home, Korea. Yesterday, she shared some pictures and as I looked at the noble faces of her mother, aunt and uncle, at the precious faces of the children and at the splendor of that beautiful land, my heart was greatly moved. And it got me thinking.

As Americans, I think, in many ways, we have been greatly hindered by the affluence we so easily take for granted. We forget that others have known great suffering--that many suffer today at the hands of brutal leaders, impoverished lands or vicious diseases. We think suffering is standing in the Starbucks line too long or getting stuck behind a slow driver. We think we've suffered if our favorite tv show gets a late start in the fall season or our favorite sports team loses a game.

I hate to say it, but we're soft. And we did it in just a few short years, too. My grandparents' generation wasn't soft. They were the WW2 Generation--they knew what suffering was; they knew what sacrifice was; they knew what hard work was for the simple reward of putting food on the table one more day.

Please don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for what we have. I'm thankful for the blessings we have come to think of as our American right. But sometimes I wonder if we're really the "lucky" ones. We have so much and yet our souls are so vacant. We want for nothing and yet we are never satisfied. We search for meaning in things we can buy and experiences we can have and yet there is a moral and spiritual hollow that follows us like a dark shadow. Sometimes, I just think we have it too good. We are a society who avoids discomfort, suffering or sacrifice at all costs and I can't help but think that we have gypped ourselves out of something great and noble.

My favorite author, C.S. Lewis said, "But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world."

When I see the Cindy Sheehans, Lynndie England's or Ray Nagin's of this country, my heart aches. Is this what our great country has become? God forbid. We have so much to offer the world, so much to give but we will miss the mark if we don't change. We must be people of moral greatness. We must be people of intense goodness. We must be people willing to sacrifice our own desires for the needs of others. And we must learn to love. We must learn to forgive. We must learn to be kind. That's what I see in the faces of Oddy's family. I hope it is what people will see in me. I hope.

Take some time, if you haven't already, to read her stories. I know you'll be as moved as I have been. And thanks, Oddy, for sharing them with us.

Going Home Again
Going Home Again Part II
Pictures, Pictures, Pictures!
Korea

Screwed Like a Light Bulb

After Katrina hit, stories of rapes and murders, babies getting their throats slit and piles of corpses filling the Superdome shocked and horrified the nation. We watched in disbelief as reporter after reporter told the gruesome stories. Now, a month later, we are being told these facts may have been “exaggerated”—in fact, they may even be false.

According to this article:

“They have no official reports of rape and no eyewitnesses to sexual assault. The state Department of Health and Hospitals counted 10 dead at the Superdome and four at the convention center. Only two of those are believed to have been murdered.”

Forgive me if I have mixed emotions about this. I’m very glad that the raping and murdering was less than previously reported, but I can’t help but feel utterly and completely manipulated right now. When the mayor says "They have people standing out there, have been in that frickin' Superdome for five days watching dead bodies, watching hooligans killing people, raping people.", I believe him. When the Chief of Police says, "We have individuals who are getting raped; we have individuals who are getting beaten.", I believe him, too. So to find out these vile stories are untrue makes me very angry. I’m angry that somebody reported stories that weren’t true or, at best, were grossly exaggerated . I’m angry that I was manipulated into believing anarchy and violence were rampant when all that was rampant was the chaos resulting from the ineptness of the Blanco and Nagin administrations.

As the truth is revealed the question screaming to be asked is: Who gave birth to these untruths and what was the motive? Are the guys who allegedly raped and murdered to blame? Mmmm....call me crazy, but I hardly think they'd be hanging around Campbell Brown begging for an interview. Was the pandemonium to blame? I think it’s fair to say it contributed to the confusion, but what about the reporters? Were they just “doing their job” when they reported unsubstantiated stories? What about Nagin? Should he be allowed to use the “I was just telling you what they told me” escape hatch?

I hate to be a cynic but I firmly believe we, as a nation, were fully, completely and intentionally lied to. I think our good hearts and compassionate nature were played like a fiddle by the MSM and the Louisiana powers-that-be. I think the media saw an opportunity to create a sensational story AND destroy Bush and his administration’s credibility all in the same shot. I think Nagin and Blanco were desperate to find a fall guy and I think Michael Brown -who made just enough mistakes to support their claims- was it. I think people like Oprah should be ashamed of themselves for exploiting such lies and manipulating the American public so shamelessly. I think what they have done is reprehensible and disgusting and I think every last one of them should be held accountable, by the American people, for the lies they told.

Quotables

Natedawg has a whiteboard he keeps in his bedroom.

Today's message reads:

"Go away, the whole world's rotting."

Whose kid is this???

Lite Brite!!!

I loved the Lite Brite when I was a kid, so naturally I bought one for my eldest son when he was about 6. The only problem was, we'd yet to realize the poor kid was color blind. Badly. I even sorted the colored pegs for him and put them in seperate tubs but it was to no avail.

Anyway, there's an online version that will waste hours and hours of time but only if you let it. ha!

Enjoy!

A story about rocks. And boys. And scary looking men with tattoos.

So Natie had a friend over the other day. His name is Robby. These boys have been best buddies since 1st grade and for the most part have managed to keep themselves out of trouble. Notice I said for the most part.

They were outside playing and things were going rather well when I heard the front door open. Next I heard, “Mom…you better come out here.” only it was said in a “You’re not going to like this.” sort of way as opposed to a “Where did all this money come from and who's Ed McMahon!?!?” sort of way.

I walked to the door, dread overtaking me as I hear Robby mutter “Oh man, this is gonna be bad.” As I reached the door, I saw a man standing there. He was bald-younger than me-with tattoos all over his arms. He had a cigarette poking out of his mouth and he was not smiling. Not even a little.

“Hi!” I said in my best “These-boys-have-never-given-me -a-moments-worry-so-they-couldn’t-possibly-have- done-whatever-it-is-you’re-going-to-tell-me-they-did- because-it –just-can’t-be-so!” voice.

“Uh…I was driving down the street when your boys threw a rock at my truck.”

My eyes close. “Did they hit it?” (How cute of me to ask like there was any hope of the answer being "No, I just thought you should know your son throws like a girl; you might wanna work on that.")

"Yes, ma’am, they did."

“Shit.” I’m pretty sure I just thought that but I can’t be positive. “Let’s go see.”

We walked the half block to his truck, and as we got closer, I could plainly see a gash in his white truck just below a sign saying “HOLLAND HOMES”.

I cringed as I asked, “Is that where it hit?” (Me being cute again)

“Oh…I dunno…it’s just my work truck so I’m not too worried about it. I just thought I should let an adult know about it.”

One eye opened as the realization slowly dawned on me: This slightly-scary-looking man wasn't mad. HE WASN'T MAD! More importantly, he wasn't going to make me pay for a new paint job!!!

I stood there—one eye open, the other pinched shut and just stared at him. I didn’t know what to say. I fully expected to grovel. I was all ready to recite my well-prepared “I’m just so sorry this happened but they’re not bad boys, they’re just boys” speech-with FEELING!!!-but he didn’t want it!

This display of graciousness was highly irregular and very unsettling! Which would explain the awkward silence that ensued.

I somehow managed to gather my wits and stammered, “Uhhh….BOYS! I think you have something to say to this gentleman.”

They turned to this angelic being with the bald head and tattooed arms and with all the sincerity 2 prisoners just released from death row could muster, offered up an apology. Rob started with “We’re sorry for throwing a rock at your truck.” And Nathaniel finished with, “Will you please forgive us?” My God, altar boys couldn’t have done it better!

The kind man nodded to the three of us and got back into his truck. I was stunned. The boys were stunned. As we walked back to the house, the obvious question was asked, “WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU TWO THINKING???” to which Rob meekly answered, “Usually they just go under the car.”

I turned to him and asked incredulously (because denial ain't just a river), “Usually??? You mean you’ve done this before???” A quick learner, he shut his mouth and played stupid.

We got to the house where I sat them down, had the obligatory lecture then produced a piece of paper and pencil for each of them.

“You’re going to write this man a letter and apologize again!”

I heard not one argument.

This is what they wrote: (and in record time, I might add)

to ser,
We are exdremley sorey that we threw a rock at your car. We ones agin thank you for forgiveing us if that scrached your car. We promis that we well never throw anything at a car agin. Plese forgive us.
From
Rob

Senserily,
Nathaniel

Yeah...I'd call it a good day. Rocks and all.

Another Birthday!

Today is my bestest *cougholdestcough* friend in the whole world's second annual 39th birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BONITA RAE! I LOVE YA EVEN IF YOU ARE OLD! HAHA!!!

Where'd the Pwetty Picture Go?

Hey! I just noticed the graphics around my blog title is missing!

WHO STOLE IT?!?!?

Alright...I'm gonna turn around and count to 30 and when I turn back around, I expect it to be there. No questions asked.

This is your one and only chance so don't blow it. And no making faces while my back is turned!!!

1...........
2...........
3...........

P.S. Can you tell I've had too much coffee this morning? hehe... :-P

I got me a fevah...

...and the only prescription... is more Lifehouse!

Ok...seriously. I bought the new Lifehouse cd when it first came out and am just now getting around to listening to it. I am fully and completely addicted. I LOVE THIS CD!!! It took me a few spins around the hi-fi to get the a feel for it but now I can't stop playing it! YAY for good music!!!

Buy it NOW and make me happy!

I are 4...or something close to that...

Ok...I did the math and if all my toes and fingers cooperated properly, I'm pretty sure today is Jeff of Ponytailed Conservative's birthday.

Now we've been under strong negotiations for the last week to determine if I get to be nice or get to be ornery in honor of this most auspicious occasion, and while I recall the last thing I said was something along the lines of "Yeah, you can just bite me, Bucky, because I ain't gonna be nice.", I think we're making headway.

So wander on over there and give him a big juicy kiss or a noogie or something equally obnoxious, because what would blog-siblings and friends be if they weren't utterly and completely inappropriate at all times. Just ask Harvey. ;-)

Oh...I almost forgot: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU BOOGER-EATING MORON!

A Visit

I was reading Drunken Wisdom and this sweet and tender story reminded me of an experience I had in my teens.

One summer evening, I was babysitting my pastor’s three children. The children had gone to bed around 9pm and so I sat watching tv for the rest of the night.

At some point during the evening, I got up to go check on the children and as I began to walk down the hall, I became aware of a presence standing at the front door between me and the children. This person was male, wearing a white robe; his legs were spread and his arms were akimbo. I knew it was an angel. As I walked past him he pivoted on one foot so as to face me as I walked down the hall. When I returned, he pivoted back on his foot, his back to the door and his face towards me.

For the rest of the evening he stood guard over me and the children, moving only when I moved. I recall feeling a little unnerved at having somebody watching my every move but I was more comforted by his presence than afraid.

I’ve had other angelic experiences since then, but none quite like this. And while I have no idea what he was protecting us from, I have every intention of asking him some day!

Psalm 91:11 “For He orders His angels to protect you wherever you go.”

Bad Blogger! And here's why:

It's a good thing the rest of my life isn't tended to as poorly as this blog! Life's just been busy and kind of frenetic. I'm one of those people who likes a lot of order in her life so when something comes along and shakes things up a bit, I'm like an ant who can't find her way back home because a little crumb has fallen into her path. Oy...Anyway, I'm feeling like I'm starting to get a little control of things and all because I got my filing system back in order. YAY ME!!! I hadn't cleaned out my filing cabinet in yeeeeeears and it took days and days to finally get things sorted, organized, shredded and back in tip-top shape. I do the majority of my real estate work out of my home so the paper work was piling up all around me and it was driving me nuts!

So we are head-deep into soccer season and while i love the sport and love that my kids enjoy playing it, I sometimes resent that it completely takes over my life for half of the year. Practices started in July and we don't play our last game until the weekend before Thanksgiving. If they've had a good season, it might extend into December. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I drop the Natester off at his field by 5:15 then run Christian to his field from there. Christian's field is at the opposite end of town and in the middle of a closed military base which means there is absolutely NOTHING out there to do but sit. I'm not good at doing nothing when there's so many something's needing my attention. Siiigh. Saturday we have games. This morning Natie's is about an hour west of us and Christian's is an hour east of us.

To add to the fun, Monday consists of guitar practice followed by band practice; Wednesday is more band practice which leaves Friday as the only night that we aren't running around like chickens with our heads cut off. I know this is just a season of life and I remind myself that one day--when they're gone and living their own lives-- I will long for these sweet days when my boys were all mine and life was all about them. Life is good.

So yeah...when I'm not doing that I'm building up my business (which is going well thanks to an AWESOME partner and team!), heading the women's ministry in my church and putting together a women's retreat for November. Oh yeah... and I clean and do laundry and make 7 course dinners while knitting socks for the retirement center I visit weekly. Ok that last part wasn't true. hehe...

In other news...the extreme makeover we started on the house is nearing completion! Rocket Man has done an amazing job! To date he has replaced all the fascia on the front of the house, taken out 4 windows in 2 different walls, rebuilt the walls (headers and all) and installed 1 very large windows in each. He replaced the front double-doors, put up new siding and installed new rain-gutters. The new garage door comes on Tuesday. And that leads us to my part in all this. Choosing the paint colors. My problem is that my roof is black and gray and I don't want a gray house. I want a taupe house. With white trim. Sooo...we've got 3 different colors on the house and none of them are wowing me and it's just so much pressure realizing that no matter how much work he put into making my house cute, I could TOTALLY blow it on the paint color and make my house look really really ugly. yeah...no pressure. hehe...

So there. That's my excuse for being a bad blogger. Please keep the violin music down and if you're going to bring cheese...make it gouda. Smoked.

That's "Studmuffin Rocket Man" to you!

Happy Birthday, my wonderful Rocket Man! I LOVE YOU!!!

Bill Whittle

He did it again.

Exhausted Ramblings...

So i've been trying to post for days and have had no luck. Then a friend asked me an hour ago, "Are you still working on your blog?" I ask, "Why?" and that's when she tells me i have NUMEROUS multiple posts on it. Damn thing wouldn't let me post for days, now it's gone crazy! So i went to delete all my multiple and now irrelevant posts and they just stayed and stayed. After much work, they've disappeared but now my blog is naked and I don't have the mental energy to do anything about it because, frankly, I'm just tired. I go from crying to ranting to fretting and back to crying over Katrina. Like a horrid train wreck, I know I should turn away if only for my own mental well-being but I just can't. Story after story, picture after picture, each one completely rips my heart out. And when I'm not sad, I'm angry and frustrated. I know help is slow in coming, I know these people are desperate but somebody tell me HOW you mobilize forces to deal with something of this magnitude in a matter of hours. The logistics are a nightmare; the ability to communication is spotty, at best, but for some, it's too little too late. It is a tragedy of epic proportions.

As horrible as the hurricane's affect has been, NOTHING compares to the barbarous actions of those who would prey upon THEIR OWN PEOPLE when they are most vulnerable. We look at Katrina in all her destructive power and understand that nature cannot be stopped so we resolve to go on...to be strong and to rebuild. But when-with horror and disgust-we watch this cannibalism, it eats away at our respect for mankind and weakens our hopefulness and that leads us to despair.

And so I force myself to remember-and encourage you to do the same-that no matter what the MSM wants you to believe, all is not lost...help is on the way...our Redeemer draweth nigh.

Hold on, good people, to your faith in mankind, your belief in America's courage and bravery and the goodness of God. Help IS on the way.