tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310295802024-03-13T10:02:49.439-05:00On Raven Streetlife on the mapHeather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.comBlogger233125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-59304701108365779842019-01-27T14:36:00.003-06:002019-01-27T14:36:33.412-06:00New blogFriends, readers, etc,<br />
<br />
After a long sabbatical, I'm now blogging at <a href="http://www.heatherweber.org/">www.heatherweber.org</a>. Would love to catch you there!Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-9704619882410795312015-01-30T12:24:00.001-06:002015-01-30T12:24:24.523-06:00On Writing and Hiding and Why I'm Doing Both for a WhileHey blog-world friends!<br />
<br />
This is just a note to acknowledge my absence for the last 8 weeks or so. Oh, you didn't notice? Oh well, <i>I </i>have. Especially after a seven-month run of <a href="http://onravenstreet.blogspot.com/2014/05/dear-sixth-grade-epistolary-wednesday.html">Epistolary Wednesdays</a>, a form and habit I love still. Here's the deal though (and an explanation for my silence). I'm feeling pulled to do that sort of writing that can't have an immediate audience. The beauty of blogging is that I get to write and interact with all of you lovely people. But the reality of my life (the one where I'm a mom to three squirrelly girls, an associate pastor, <i>and</i> a writer) is that when I'm blogging, it's the only writing I have time for. And in this season, I'm feeling pulled to do that other kind--the kind that buckles down and explores and doesn't know what it wants to say quite yet but is figuring it out, stumbling through poetic language, slashing it, running into metaphors, finessing them, and figuring out what they mean. That kind of writing is more expansive than a single blog post or a series of interconnected blog posts, and it's what I'm feeling pulled toward in this season. Maybe there's another book to unearth. I guess I won't know until I spend some time in the cave.<br />
<br />
All that is to say, I will check in here from time to time. And see you on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/heatherweberovenbird?ref=hl">Facebook</a> (always Facebook). And please, if you are a lover of <i>Dear Boy,</i> please share it with your friends. Could I be so bold as to ask you to write a review on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Boy-Epistolary-Heather-Weber-ebook/dp/B00GOB79M6/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1422641940&sr=8-3&keywords=dear+boy">Amazon</a> or <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19521085-dear-boy?from_search=true">Goodreads</a> or <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dear-boy-heather-weber/1117690921?ean=9781940906041">Barnes and Noble</a> (or wherever it is you buy your books)?<br />
<br />
Until next time.<br />
Heather<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><br />
<br />
***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</i></a><br />
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"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,</i> </a>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-26379667670388093732014-12-03T09:38:00.001-06:002014-12-03T09:38:23.223-06:00Dear Faith-Shifter (Epistolary Wednesday)<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Faith-Shifter,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You hold such a tender place in my heart, you who once felt
that everything was sure, you who once felt certain of God and religion, of
church and ritual and the blackness and whiteness of rightness and wrongness,
goodness and badness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shifted many
years ago and continue to shift—not away from God—but away from some of the certainties
of my youth, away from the coded language of a larger religious identity that
was shared by a group of people I love to this day. I shifted because too many
things felt wrong about our Way of Being. And so much of that Way hung on me like
an ill-fitting garment; and, there was too much jargon that those outside our
tribe could not understand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6KapiqHwUJM/VH8pRx74vqI/AAAAAAAAUyY/50KHffCuk1U/s1600/boy_window.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6KapiqHwUJM/VH8pRx74vqI/AAAAAAAAUyY/50KHffCuk1U/s1600/boy_window.JPG" height="320" width="233" /></a>I will always love the Church (of course I love it—I’m one
of its pastors); I will always love the way the Spirit has of speaking and
moving and wooing us. I will love the Bible, its complexity and mysteriousness
and truths-held-in-tension-ness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when
we love so deeply, Faith Shifter, and are simultaneously so at odds with pieces
of the tradition of our forefathers, or at odds with the ways the timeless has
been trapped in the temporal, with the distorted expressions of the Love of God,
and when we’re in search of some fresh way to express faith, questions, and mystery--it
can lead us to loneliness. We belong and we don’t belong. We believe and we
don’t believe (certain things). We wonder when no one else wonders. And we
wonder if we are the only ones observing as if through a window the party we've long been invited to attend.</div>
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I was reminded in my reading this week of how, when we shift, the increased distance we feel from those who were once (or still are) our tribe often extends to a loneliness toward God. When we shift, it may seem that God shifts too. I have felt a distance, yes, over many years and
winters and questions, that perhaps stemmed from the belief that Once We Lose Our Faith in God or God’s Church or God's Church's Answers, then so has God in us. But, if I could, I
would spare you the necessity of this Distance, dear one. To assert that God has lost his love or faith in us is to assert that God is as splintered and confused and fragmented as my own (in seasons) battered heart. I have come
to find out, after and even in the shifting, that God wasn’t far, not even as far as the
snowflakes drifting three inches from my December window. No, he was on the inside
of the pane, in my breath blown upon it, in the lungs that exhaled all my questions.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><br />
<br />
***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</i></a><br />
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<br />
"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,</i> </a>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.</div>
</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-67450761946200093672014-11-26T12:00:00.000-06:002014-11-26T12:00:01.424-06:00On Epistles and Sea Change (Epistolary Wednesday),<div class="MsoNormal">
As much as I’ve loved our themed epistles on Wednesdays, I’m
starting to think that every blog post is an epistle. And every novel, every
essay, every poem for that matter. After all, if it’s not written in a diary,
then it’s written for an audience, from one person to many others, meaning,
maybe I won't identify a fictionalized recipient every week. But sometimes I will. So: here’s me giving notice that Wednesdays are epistolary by
nature, whether or not I’m writing to you, my husband, daughters, Jesus, Obama, or the Duggar family. Yes?</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But about sea changes. I’m not really a water girl, and
probably shouldn’t talk like water words come easily to me, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sea change</i> makes me think of sailors and
wet rope and a stern watch on the ocean. It’s the phrase that ran through my
mind a few months ago in the middle of weeks of restlessness. Have you ever
felt change coming like you feel a storm rolling in? Maybe we don’t know how
loud or wild the storm will be, but we know it’s coming nonetheless. And we sit on our
perches with cold anticipation and a thrill in our stomachs because we know things are
about to Get Interesting.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nQ6V61J8aLI/VHTp7WHZybI/AAAAAAAAUxg/vriQ3uquL7c/s1600/mast%2Bsail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nQ6V61J8aLI/VHTp7WHZybI/AAAAAAAAUxg/vriQ3uquL7c/s1600/mast%2Bsail.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a>Well that’s where I’m at, and I’ve been here before,
watching for sea change. Sometimes the waters rise up and roil so slowly you
can’t tell exactly when it begins. Other times, it’s a flash of lightening and a
darkening sky in an instant. I’m not a boater, like I said, but what I hear is
that we can get farther if we cooperate with the wind and hike our sails to catch
it when it blows.<br />
<br />
Sunday night, a small group of friends and I met and we asked
each other the question about what was next in each other’s lives. Where did we
feel God calling us, where did we think we were going? Funny to find out, most
of us in the room were feeling a sea change too—facing decisions about babies
and moves and jobs and settling or not settling down. And then we prayed that we’d
catch the wind of the Spirit wherever it was leading, that we’d have our sails
up at the right moment so we could move along with
it.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And then we each went out into a wet and icy November night, to chilly cars, and slick streets, to the next morning's alarm clocks and waking children and meetings and phone calls and family chaos and drama. Keeping our sails up takes some diligence in the midst of the everydayness of our jam-packed lives. It means readying ourselves when we're not really ready for change, when we don't know what change looks like, and when we don't know if we really want it. And then, despite our diligence to hoist the sails, there may be the impossible absence of wind. At least for a time. And there we live: ready but not ready, ready but mystified, ready and going nowhere--all while we try to live like responsible, loving human beings--taking out the trash, greeting our neighbors across the snow-covered yards, praying, giving, blending hemp seed and fruit smoothies for our children's breakfast, and, every once in a while, checking on that cold and unmoving winter sky as it's framed by the window.</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-74810268449815363862014-11-19T13:53:00.000-06:002014-11-19T13:53:12.982-06:00Dear Husband, (Epistolary Wednesday)<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Husband,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We made a deal, you and me, seventeen-and-a-half years ago that we were in it for better and for worse, and oh, there’s been a lot of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">worse-that-we-hoped-would-get-better</i>. And after seventeen years and three children and two houses and four neighborhoods and too many deaths and too-many-arguments-to-count and a million peaceful moments that we wish we could sink into for the rest of our lives, we learn that sometimes worse doesn’t get better and sometimes it does just enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-44gOJ7Ny2go/VGzvtVGmtZI/AAAAAAAAUw4/ih2hz7R_5WY/s1600/heal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-44gOJ7Ny2go/VGzvtVGmtZI/AAAAAAAAUw4/ih2hz7R_5WY/s1600/heal.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>However, I don’t remember signing up specifically for this Surgery Thing you had to have last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A perforated eardrum, you told me they told you. Which maybe explains the partial hearing loss (-<i>what?!</i>) and the constant ringing in your ears (<i>-really? Constantly?</i>). You can fall apart and have, like I have over the years, in a million ways, but this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">physical</i> falling apart sends me to some far distant place from our bodies in the recovery room—me helping you dress--and then while I push your wheelchair through the hospital skywalk while your ear’s packed tight with cotton stuffing and your jaw aches like you’ve been to the dentist for drilling. It’s some place in the future that I go, wondering if this is what it’s gonna be like—one or both of us hardly able to pull our socks on--not because of narcotics but because of age.<br />
<br />
And old age reminds me of our mortality, of how close we are, of how this stage we’re set upon could collapse so suddenly. It’s also why I can’t look at the wounds of friends or strangers without wincing and my stomach turning, because wounds speak of such vulnerability and loss--and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m not ready to lose.</i> This whole list of post-op prohibitions doesn’t help, either—no lifting more than ten pounds, no sneezing or straining or getting excited about anything. All of it, along with the cotton in your ear and the scab where they stole some skin to patch up your eardrum is making me nervous in a rickety-rackety sort of way. I want to shoo that ringing-in-the-ears away and have you wake up the next morning all brand new, but they tell me this is not the way of surgery. With surgery, they rip us into pieces and rearrange. And then we heal. And healing takes time and rest. And sometimes drugs. But drugs and pain make us foggy and disconnected and generally Not Right in the world while our cells are regenerating and our nerves recalibrating. Come to think of it, maybe this is just the way of all recovery, how all of the Worse turns Better--painful, discombobulating, <i>slow</i>, but healing nonetheless.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a><br />
<br />
***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</i></a><br />
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<br />
"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,</i> </a>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.</div>
</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-63852455215872289202014-11-12T10:00:00.000-06:002014-11-12T10:32:03.800-06:00For the Modern-Day Kittys and Lydias, (Epistolary Wednesday)For You Modern-Day Kittys and Lydias,<br />
<br />
I’m addressing you metaphorically, of course, as Austen’s <i>characters</i> are merely that. But, I find no better way to warn you, Girl, of the downside to obsessively fixating on potential matches and romance all around you in the seventh grade. You remember, don’t you, how Lydia’s obsession with “the officers” and her mother’s relentless matchmaking led to shame and embarrassment for her whole family, how she threw caution to the wind and put undeserved faith in Wickham, who was interested in sex and money and very little in Lydia? In Austen’s days, of course, Lydia was old enough to marry, but hitched and pregnant is not where I want you or any of your friends at sixteen. Need a contemporary warning? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAAa53zcsns">Lorelei Gilmore</a> (albeit with the worst parents on earth). Pregnant at 16. Yes, it all turned out all right after she lived in a garden shed with her daughter and was estranged from her family for many years. It’s good now, but might I remind you of the years her romance cost her?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GUjEr7i2a-E/VGOLdhFhbXI/AAAAAAAAUro/DBojxNr8ys0/s1600/kittylydia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GUjEr7i2a-E/VGOLdhFhbXI/AAAAAAAAUro/DBojxNr8ys0/s320/kittylydia.jpg" width="320" /></a>All this is to say, it concerns me that you take so much pleasure in matchmaking your friends at the junior high school dance, that you are “<i>so happy</i> for” the “couple” who has just placed tentative hands on one another’s shoulders and hips for the first time in their lives after only glancing at each other fearfully in the hallway for the first two months of school. You’re happy and squeally for them--as if they’ve just announced an engagement, a wedding, a baby. And this leaves me unsettled and wondering what on earth you think this means—two children swaying together for three minutes in a gymnasium. <i>I hope you know this is not the end of their story.</i> That they will (99.99999% likely) “break up” in the next two weeks, that their hearts will get broken over and over again in the context of this not-quite-real world of global studies tests, bus rides, field trips, hall passes, AP exams, choir concerts and track meets. They might do things they wished they hadn’t. <br />
<br />
Sweetheart, some of these kids will take this "romance" in the serious way that you seem to be taking it--up to the next level. You should know: there will be pregnancies you will not see evidence of. There will be diseases you hear nothing about. Some of your friends, too, will end up used and abused by other children who haven't learned anything about real love. There will be appointments and counseling and parents tearing their hair out and crying because these poor parents are strapped with the job of helping these not-quite-or-even-close-to adults navigate adult-like decisions and adult-like hormones and adult-like bodies.<br />
<br />
Please accept my kind but urgent rebuke. How about we celebrate romance later? Let’s pull out our dancing shoes when these children understand that romance is as temporary as the cold, solid ice pop you get handed at the Fourth of July parade. What seems so solid and dependable in romance can liquefy in the wrong climates. Let’s laugh and smile when these creatures learn how to own their choices and take responsibility for their lives. Let’s do the Macarena when they learn selflessness, because that's what helps love last; it's what gives romance a fighting chance at re-forming once it's become a puddly mess. Let’s do the Cha Cha Slide and the Chicken when they’ve learned how to suffer long for someone else, when they know how true love hopes and waits and defers and hangs in there and doesn’t give up. Okay, sweetheart? <i>Okay? Okay??</i><br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/fMt1Fu7-Pp4" width="420"></iframe><br />
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<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a>***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</i></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,</i> </a>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-89228783086042238772014-11-10T09:16:00.001-06:002014-11-10T09:17:00.747-06:00Monday Must-Reads (November 10)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #7d7d7d; font-family: Copse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" height="192" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's Monday and--after surviving a sleepover with 6 10-year-olds this weeken-- I sleepily present to you a few good reads I stumbled into this week:<br />
<br />
On pregnancy and the secrecy we keep to deal with potential loss: <a href="https://medium.com/the-archipelago/im-pregnant-so-why-cant-i-tell-you-271659d03f36">I'm Pregnant. So Why Can't I Tell You?</a><br />
<br />
A fresh look: <a href="http://www.christianitytoday.com/women/2014/october/school-prayer-doesnt-need-comeback.html">School Prayer Doesn't Need a Comeback.</a><br />
<br />
On what God is like: <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2014/10/26/if-you-cant-say-it-about-jesus-dont-say-it-about-god-jason-micheli/">If You Can't Say it about Jesus, then Don't Say it about God.</a><br />
<br />
As usual, a little edgy, but to the point: Jamie the Very Worst Missionary criticizes the use of the word "blessed" in her post <a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2014/11/blessed.html">#Blessed</a>.<br />
<br />
Parenting through our anger: <a href="http://familyshare.com/Parenting/the-important-thing-about-yelling">Why Yelling Doesn't Help.</a><br />
<br />
For laughs, if you're a Jane Austen fan: <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mallory-ortberg-/pride-and-prejudice-texts-from-jane-eyre_b_6057802.html">If the characters of <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> Could Text.</a><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy, </a><i>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." </i>--Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak.</i></span></div>
</div>
<br />Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-84129669230308160742014-11-05T10:00:00.000-06:002014-11-05T10:00:01.485-06:00Dear Distracted Girl, (Epistolary Wednesday)<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Distracted Girl,<o:p></o:p></div>
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When you were little, I thought only your age was to blame
on your restlessness and forgetfulness. I’ve been waiting all these years for
you to grow out of “it”—an “it” I’ve had a hard time defining up until now.
It’s that thing that happens when I talk to you and you don’t seem to hear me
and I repeat myself and you don’t seem to hear me, again, as if you’re lost in
your head and daydreaming about video games or beading or the clay sculptures
you want to create as soon as you can get through your breakfast. Being inside
your head is a good thing. I like to live in mine as well. It’s where I start
the beginnings of essays and emails. It’s where I problem-solve financial and
relational challenges. So, I wasn’t truly worried back then because you were
pretty focused at school; you stayed on task; you told the disruptive kids
where they could go be disruptive if they got in your space. Your second-grade
teacher told me he wished he could discover the secret to your
focus-in-the-classroom combined with your wildness-on-the-playground, put it in
a book, and sell it. Imagine my relief.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-esq9SCdcjA8/VFmb6mG0uBI/AAAAAAAAUqI/LA9zvzd4dwc/s1600/adhd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-esq9SCdcjA8/VFmb6mG0uBI/AAAAAAAAUqI/LA9zvzd4dwc/s1600/adhd.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>But then third grade came around and
those stupid test scores caught me by surprise. Oh, I know, it was your first
year taking standardized tests and third graders shouldn’t be expected to have
the hang of those straightaway. But it was other little things too—like your
rushing through words without sounding them out and substituting something
nonsensical just so you could say you read them. And now, added to language, it
is the math—the mere mention or sight of a division sign and you lose yourself,
as if fractions and decimals and negative numbers and operational signs are
whirring inside the blender that is your head, just to torment you. And we sit
at the kitchen table for a good ten minutes some days, before I can even
convince you to calm down--before the tears are gone-for-the-moment--and lead
you through a path of reasoning that you, inevitably, find crooked and laden
with stumbling stones. It’s a big victory when you’re able to surmount those
stones and climb the path after me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I spent so much time feeling frustrated, like maybe
you just didn’t want to do your homework or clean your room, like maybe you
were just prioritizing fun and friends and creativity over the “first things
first” that I’ve taught you since you were three. But I’m realizing now
that it’s not mostly laziness or disobedience, but that you likely don’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">notice</i> the mess, Sweet Thing. You think,
in all honesty, that you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> clean
your room, that you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> empty your
lunchbox—at least, it’s what you remember, or think you remember.<br />
<br />
I don’t know how long this will go on, but I’m changing how
I parent you. No more series of requests presented all at once—because you will
remember the last one and forget the first two. On school mornings, I get your
breakfast ready for you now so it’s at your place at the table—because it would
take you half an hour to collect bread, jam, a knife and plate if you were
instructed to do so. And we’re going to see someone in a few weeks—someone who
might shed light for us on what’s happening inside that sparkling, thought-full
mind of yours.<br />
<br />
But let me just say, for the record, that I love your mind.
I love your enthusiasm and your quick-to-burn excitement that does, inevitably
cause you to focus on what’s-most-important-to-you even when the things-that-are-important-to-me fall by the wayside. Look at how you gather all the kid-piano
books in the house and tap out songs you used to play in your lessons. Look how you’re teaching yourself "Ode to Joy" on the recorder, shuffling through the house like a marching-band-of-one. And last night, on your tenth birthday, I watched you in the audience at a choral concert, your eyes almost
weepy over the sweetness of the girls’ voices, your phone poised in mid-air so
you could record this little bit of auditory heaven for keeps. I could see you
up there someday. I know you’ll be up there someday, singing like there’s
nothing better than entering that kind of beauty. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All in</i> is what you are, Girl, to the things you care about the most. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<br />***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</i></a>, on sale now through Thursday for <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Boy-Epistolary-Heather-Weber-ebook/dp/B00GOB79M6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1415157655&sr=8-1&keywords=dear+boy%2C">$.99 cents (Kindle Version</a>.)</div>
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<br />"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1"><i>Dear Boy,</i> </a>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-24198885367589549342014-11-03T09:00:00.000-06:002014-11-03T09:00:21.073-06:00Monday Must-Reads (November 3, 2014)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #7d7d7d; font-family: Copse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" height="192" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Happy Monday. This weekend had me pulling out the down winter coat--the one that looks like a sleeping bag it's so long. But that's okay. I was warm and if I could go back in time I would tell my seventh grader self <i>Who Cares if Coats Make You Look Fat!? </i>Warmth matters more. Also, other than the sleeping bag-coat, we celebrated Middle's birthday with family tonight. She'll be ten in two days. Double digits. That's something pretty special. Anyhoo, here are a few reads I wanted to share with you this week.<br />
<br />
For the introverts. My people. In case you weren't sure: <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/20/introverts-signs-am-i-introverted_n_3721431.html">12 signs you are an introvert.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://time.com/3540263/girls-boko-haram-escape/?utm_content=buffer4cf6a">Girl who escaped Boko Haram talks about captivity...</a><br />
<br />
Just browse Target? <a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2014/10/is-it-even-possible-to-shop-ethically.html">Is it even possible to shop ethically on a tight budget without looking like a smelly hippy? </a>from Jamie the Very Worst Missionary.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2014/10/what-i-want-you-to-know-about-how.html">What I want you to know about having a child with Down Syndrome</a> from Rage Against the Minivan.<br />
<br />
For those of us trying to hard: <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2014/10/how-i-do-it-all-not/">How I do it all (not).</a><br />
<br />
Oh! I almost forgot! The <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Boy-Epistolary-Heather-Weber-ebook/dp/B00GOB79M6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414976500&sr=8-1&keywords=dear+boy%2C+kindle">Kindle edition of Dear Boy,</a> is on sale through November 6. Only $.99 on Amazon. Don't forget to snatch one up if you haven't already!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy, </a><i>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." </i>--Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak.</i></span></div>
</div>
<br />
<br />Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-67858905058982292302014-10-29T08:30:00.000-05:002014-10-29T10:04:44.564-05:00Dear Fundraising Company, (Epistolary Wednesday)<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dear Fundraising Company,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I know, I know, it’s for the school.
For the children and the after-school sports and the library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But let’s be honest: it’s for the companies, too, that make a fortune on “silver” pendants ordered through glossy
catalogs full of caramel corn, soup mixes and phone charging stations. Normally, my scrooge levels crank up to full power about now. I could buy better quality stuff at Target, yet you’ve somehow gotten my children so excited about the
Crap They Can Win if they sell your product to me and to their
grandparents and to the neighbors. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Invisible ink? By golly, it’s all
worth it. Canvas the neighborhood! Call the aunts and uncles! Let them know
that for 19.99 they can buy a set of melamine nesting bowls in Tex-mex colors.
And why wouldn’t they?</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fzrP2JZEVsI/VEzZ9lh-Q5I/AAAAAAAAUoM/uHzhKRjyuME/s1600/fundraiser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fzrP2JZEVsI/VEzZ9lh-Q5I/AAAAAAAAUoM/uHzhKRjyuME/s1600/fundraiser.jpg" height="320" width="185" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But, I'm telling you, you shocked me with the magazine sales that
Oldest was asked to participate in now that she’s a seventh grader. There’s a
streak of altruism running through this set-up that’s different than any other.
Oldest told me that she didn’t want the "dumb prizes” you were offering kids for
bringing in post cards addressed to all the members of their extended family. Instead
she was given the choice to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">donate a live
chicken</i> to an individual in a third-world nation. Come again? A chicken in lieu of a fake mustache? And apparently, she can do this again if she sells five more
subscriptions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who are you—the Heifer
International of school fundraisers? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
love you</i>. Wait--I’m conflicted. I mean, I want South
American farmers to get chickens if they need them, but does that only happen
if I order <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rachael Ray Everyday! </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Martha Stewart Living</i>? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm not sure how to live with the irony that basic food and sustenance for an under-resourced family in the third world is supplied by way of our purchasing tomes that document photoshopped first-world lives and homes and celebrities. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But it seems to be a theme here in America--we implore givers to give by giving <i>them</i> something, albeit less valuable, in exchange. And as disturbing as it is to me that we cannot seem to request from people the same level of generosity without returns, it seems to be "working."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Maybe you've got a CEO who's keen on providing livestock to third-world families even though she's in charge of a school magazine sales fundraising company. If that's the case, I guess she's winning. And, I'll thank you for giving my daughter the option--for keeping my living room clear of one more piece of plastic-headed-for-the-trashcan, and for sending a bird to a family in South America.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy, </a><i>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it." </i>--Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak.</i></span></div>
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Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-37544209496116141412014-10-27T09:34:00.003-05:002014-10-27T09:34:50.467-05:00Monday Must-Reads (October 27)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #7d7d7d; font-family: Copse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" height="192" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Happy Monday! It's cloudy and warmish (!) in Iowa--probably one of our last mild fall days before we break out the midwestern winter wear. Whatever your climate, I hope you enjoy some of these reads from the week:<br />
<br />
For any woman who's been pregnant after miscarriage. Sarah Bessey's <a href="http://sarahbessey.com/flutters-faith/">Flutters and Faith</a>.<br />
<br />
Good advice to mothers, fathers, husbands, or wives: <a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2014/10/on-not-firepitting-our-marriage-or-our.html">On Not "Firepitting" our Marriage (or our Children)</a>.<br />
<br />
On generosity: <a href="http://wearethatfamily.com/2014/10/dear-world-lets-stop-giving-our-crap-to-the-poor/">Dear World, Let's Stop Giving Our Crap to the Poor.</a> This was controversial. Do you agree? Disagree? Discuss.<br />
<br />
And, (a theme this week?) if we haven't walked in these shoes: <a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2014/10/what-i-want-you-to-know-about-being-poor.html">What I Want You to Know about Being Poor.</a><br />
<br />Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-59263217400668199152014-10-22T05:52:00.000-05:002014-10-29T10:04:33.544-05:00Dear Pastor's Kid, (Epistolary Wednesday)<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Pastor’s Kid,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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You’ve heard the stories about Jesus and Abraham since you
were in diapers. You know that God is Good and Jesus Loves You because The Bible Tells You So. You’ve sung the Sunday school songs, performed
in the Christmas programs, and just because you’re you, have corrected the
theology of the younger ones who wanted to know if angels and Santa were in
cahoots, if the Easter Bunny was as real as Jesus. Also, you take science seriously;
you wrestled with creation theory, held intelligent conversations about how the theories of evolution and God-as-Orignator might somehow
fit together like a puzzle, and not be at odds as so many people seem to think they are.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aF8ijukd9hg/VEU6CLBJNvI/AAAAAAAAUnU/ILD6dl8D-sE/s1600/pastorskid.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aF8ijukd9hg/VEU6CLBJNvI/AAAAAAAAUnU/ILD6dl8D-sE/s1600/pastorskid.jpeg" /></a>And you know so much about the Bible—names, spouses, plot
twists, dates—that I’m surprised to hear you casually recounting the stories.
You don’t know it <i>all</i> (how could you;
how could <i>anyone</i>?), but I’m sort of impressed. You’re invested, in other words, in figuring this whole
God-and-the-Bible thing out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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But, <i>you’re also worn out on God Stuff</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I suggest reading the Bible out loud to you and your
sister, or when there’s some new thing for kids at church who are your age, you'll sigh and say, “Do we have to? I already know everything there is to know
about this stuff.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sometimes, when
you come home from youth group, or you hear about a church event other kids are going to, you sigh and say, “I’m just gonna feel guilty because
they’ll tell me I should be telling people about Jesus. And I just don’t want
to.” And not wanting to makes you feel like a very bad person.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I will commiserate with you because--listen--<i>the last thing I
want for you (or anyone who loves Jesus) is to feel like you have to
perform for Him.</i> It's not what anyone has meant to convey to you, but somehow the message has gotten scrambled over all these years.<br />
<br />
Here's the problem I've started to clarify: So much
knowledge <i>about</i> God, so much
immersion in “church” and the Bible to the exclusion of <i>knowing </i>God with your heart just as much, is counterintuitive if not downright damaging.
All of those facts and figures and names and verses could trick one into
thinking that they have this God-thing all figured out, that this mass of
information is all there is to gain. </div>
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That kind of knowledge is dangerous, love, because like a vaccine, it so easily inoculates us against the most important things--it works against our Searching, against our Hunger and Finding Out With Our Hearts and our Souls who God really is. <i>Those things</i>, dear one, are what I most want you to inherit--not the satisfaction of memorizing verses and references, not a sense that you have "arrived" in church-land culture.<br />
<br />
If taking back some of the Vacation Bible Schools, some of the forced Sunday school attendance when you were just not "into it" meant opening up your curiosity and encouraging your questions, I might do it. And even though it's not my first choice, that is why I'm letting you go to the junior high dance and giggle in a corner with your two girlfriends rather than make you go to the church youth conference. Maybe--and this is my prayer--your spiritual hunger will grow best in an echo-y gymnasium full of shy seventh graders. Maybe you will search for God right alongside bowls of Chex mix, cups of fruit punch, and Pharrell Williams through the sound system.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</a>.<br /><br /><i>"</i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy, </a><i>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it."</i> --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-13064382506317433342014-10-20T09:56:00.003-05:002014-10-20T09:56:42.582-05:00Monday Must-Reads (October 20, 2014)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #7d7d7d; font-family: Copse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" height="192" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Happy Monday--there were lots of provocative reads that I bumped into this past week. And I'm sharing them. Much love and happy reading.<br />
<br />
Shauna Niequist on pregnancy loss: <a href="http://shaunaniequist.com/recedes/">The Pain Recedes and We Carry it Together</a><br />
<br />
For those who want to don't want to lose time to Facebook: <a href="http://deeperstory.com/why-im-crazy-enough-to-go-for-a-year-without-the-internet/">Why I'm Crazy Enough to Go for a Year Without the Internet</a><br />
<br />
Because judging other people sucks: <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/health-science/why-i-dont-breastfeed-if-you-must-know/2014/10/13/74c5fd3e-459a-11e4-9a15-137aa0153527_story.html">Why I don't breastfeed, if you must know...</a><br />
<br />
For those who spend way too much money on Amazon: <a href="http://www.becomingminimalist.com/latte-factor/">The Latte Factor: 8 Ways We Overspend</a><br />
<br />
A lesson for leaders: <a href="http://www.relevantmagazine.com/god/church/what-mark-driscoll-teaches-us-about-grace-and-accountability">What Mark Driscoll Teaches Us about Grace and Accountability</a><br />
<br />
Enough said: <a href="http://kathyescobar.com/2014/09/22/women-men-church-what-hurts-what-helps/">women, men, & church; church: what hurts, what helps</a><br />
<br />
If you suffer or you have little ones who do, here's another approach: <a href="https://experiencelife.com/article/connecting-adhd-and-nutrition/">Connecting ADHD and Nutrition</a><br />
<br />Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-89416267660740592502014-10-15T08:21:00.002-05:002014-10-15T09:08:14.017-05:00Dear Kate Hudson, (Epistolary Wednesday)<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C6smTYa6dcI/VD5WnzFspmI/AAAAAAAAUlE/Hs5uSwjZ6YQ/s1600/Fabletics_Site_MeetKate_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C6smTYa6dcI/VD5WnzFspmI/AAAAAAAAUlE/Hs5uSwjZ6YQ/s1600/Fabletics_Site_MeetKate_03.jpg" height="320" width="271" /></a>Dear Kate,<br />
<br />
It used to be that we exercisers put on our grubbiest clothes, our holey-est shirts and the dirty sneakers we wouldn't ever wear if we were dressing for "regular" daily activities. But these days it's not enough that we are actually doing the work of exercising, that we are sweating and galloping on a treadmill or a cold wet sidewalk for forty minutes. No. Now we are supposed to look <i>cute</i> when we do it. But that's not news anymore. It's the reason Old Navy devotes a third of their women's clothing section to "activewear." And apparently the same reason why your new Fabletics line is showing up in my Facebook news feed twelve times a day. Like the next girl, I'm hooked by the promise of a good deal on running pants and sports bras, and Fabletics offers a first outfit for only $25. Better yet, join their VIP program and get an outfit at a reduced price, each and every month, for as low as $49. While I'm sure your husband, closet and budget can accommodate a new activewear outfit every month at $49 a pop, I'm not so sure about mine. Also, I'm finding on the message boards that "VIPs" <i>get charged $49 whether they purchase an outfit or not</i>. And most of them don't know this ahead of time. Should they want their money back because they neither need nor can afford a new outfit every month? Well, Fabletics will give them store credit to be used on a future purchase. (Ladies: <i>beware</i>.)<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kate Hudson, you're a genius or an opportunist depending on where one stands. But your marketing bit is about "every woman": Every Woman Deserves to Look Cute in Affordable Activewear or some such spin. And this whole we'll-charge-you-for-nothing-and-not-give-your-money-back seems a bit disloyal of you, a bit antagonistic to the wellbeing of Every Woman, who as you ought to know, is for the most part working simply on making ends meet, acquiring winter coats for her children, paying dentist bills, or saving for retirement. You oughta know that Every Woman, by definition and common denominator, won't be purchasing <i>that </i>many pairs of yoga pants.<br />
<br />
And I'm not sure how to even wrap my head around this statement, KH: "With Fabletics, we want to create a community...a movement, to help you live fit and achieve your passions in life." First off, joining the ranks of women duped by these monthly charges does not a community make. And second, working for clean drinking water in Africa is a <i>movement.</i> Civil rights for minorities is a movement. Feminism, the march on Wall Street, and breast cancer awareness are <i>movements.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Wanna keep motivating women to exercise and purchase your products? Do it. But be straight up about it and treat us like we have some smarts and truly worthy causes to spend our money on. Because we do.<br />
<br /></div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-70435337080292831232014-10-08T08:17:00.001-05:002014-10-29T10:05:36.653-05:00For Tiny at Bedtime, (Epistolary Wednesday)For Tiny at Bedtime,<br />
<br />
It’s the ritual that I think will stay with you through all the years that lie ahead. I don’t know when we’ll stop, but for now I can’t help but believe, as I sit in your dusky bedroom at twilight, that the repetition of these requested songs every night is somehow building a solid core in you. You never sing along, and you only like the songs sung quietly while I rub your back, but I trust that their rhythms are somehow becoming the primal stuff of childhood memories--that and your mother sitting next to your bed, singing.<br />
<br />
<i>Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart. </i><br />
<br />
I don’t say prayers with you regularly like all of the good church-going parents I know. I struggle enough with helping you understand my own hold on this unseen God, an invisible being who doesn’t quite “live” in any one place that I can point you to—a person you can feel but not hear or see or smell. How can I explain God to a four-year-old, to whom "going to heaven"--where God also "lives"--sounds about as appealing as visiting the dentist where she'll get to pick out a "prize" when the drilling is all over?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Naught be all else to me save that Thou art.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Other parents say their toddlers talk to Jesus like he’s sitting across the table at supper time. Not you--this family is full of doubters, literalists, skeptics, question-askers. Which is fine by me--because whatever faith we eventually do claim as our own becomes--against all odds--something textured and made sturdy by that doubt, those questions.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Thou my best thought, by day or by night.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KIrAYV6qtLQ/VDKuNROrWSI/AAAAAAAAS2Q/mRwd-hufn2A/s1600/seaweed.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KIrAYV6qtLQ/VDKuNROrWSI/AAAAAAAAS2Q/mRwd-hufn2A/s1600/seaweed.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />
I wonder if, when you are grown, these words will remind you of your mama, of the way she surrendered to an unseen God as her best Thought and Vision? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Waking or sleeping, They presence my light.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I don't always hold the vision before me, though. My awareness of God ebbs and flows like the Pacific current against the west-coast shore, and sometimes my sense of God's presence is all tangled with distraction like seaweed around my feet. But my vision is there and my vision returns and subsides and visits me again. And somehow I'm changed in that process, by the many returns, by all the reminders of God-with-us. I can't explain how this works, Tiny. I can't explain God to you. I can only live before you while <i>I</i> try to know God--in the best way I know how.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb3IHIYVenc/Uk7bvxHBTXI/AAAAAAAAMH0/QVZu03WzWsw/s1600/DearBoyCover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
***Heather Weber is the author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy,: An Epistolary Memoir</a>.<br /><br /><i>"</i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GOB79M6?btkr=1">Dear Boy, </a><i>is a brilliant and unusual memoir of distance and absence--the absence of a beloved brother from his sister's life and the absence of healthy mothering that, over the years, drove brother and sister apart. Weber deftly shifts point of view so that, piece by piece, readers gather the sum of confusion and loss. Yet there is so much love and forgiveness in the narrator that, in a way, each character is redeemed. I'm moved by this life, this telling of it."</i> --Fleda Brown, author of <i>Driving with Dvorak</i>.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-18908193165285945162014-10-01T08:30:00.000-05:002014-10-01T09:06:20.189-05:00Dear Fighting Girl, (Epistolary Wednesday)<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Fighting Girl,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are so small and glowing and full of spunk and you know your own mind so well that my before-school promptings to empty the dishwasher and
eat breakfast are intrusive and offensive. You can do it yourself. You can do
it in the order you want to do it in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sometimes I let you try this. Inevitably, though, I find you out-the-window gazing or fort-building with your littlest sister, your pajama bottoms still on and your teeth half brushed. Or: sitting on your bed, writing in your
journal. This does not bode well for getting out the door on time. Doing It
Yourself is not working for me or for school administrators. So every morning
it’s the same: your obliviousness to time, my intrusions and your subsequent
anger. You yell or stare at me in frosty silence, refusing to acknowledge or
grant my requests. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s desperate enough—my desire that you learn how to
cohabit with the inconvenience of Parents<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
</i>and People Who Care and that you learn how to make your way in the world
without being forty-five minutes late everywhere you need to be—that I invoke Consequences for the
disrespect and the arguing that comes in response to my requests. Screen-time
privileges get revoked in thirty-minute increments until you are mute,
distrusting the voice that got you into trouble in the first place. Other
times, blame pours out of your mouth like a faucet. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> fault that you lost screen time. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my fault</i> for starting the conversation with you that led to your
displeasure, which led to your yelling and sass. You’re Never Talking to Me
Again. You’re Not Going to Listen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I lose focus and I argue back—a losing, pointless
conversation that makes me feel as old as you. I should know better than to
argue, even with my calm, quiet Grown-Up Voice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are mornings you march off into the garage, grabbing
your scooter and refusing to look me in the face or say goodbye. I swipe at you
in an attempted hug; I say something like I Love You Even Though it Might Feel
Like I Don’t and I Hope You Have a Good Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You shake me off, won’t give me a backward glance as you scooter down the
driveway. And I feel sad and heartbroken that you are starting your day this
way, that I am starting my day this way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I watch and wait for the weather you will bring in after
school. It’s usually breezy and warm after picking acorns or leaves on the way home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You sing <i>hellos</i> and you regale
me with stories of bee chases on the play ground, of dogs that were visiting
the class. Cautiously, I bring up the morning: <i>Do you want to say anything about
what happened this morning?</i> I’m genuinely curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, so quickly contrite, you soften your voice in the
way you do with your littlest sister when you're getting along and say, “I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“For what?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“For yelling.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
let me rub your head and your back and shoulders and draw you close and I say I
Forgive You like it’s no big deal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can I earn screen time back?” you always ask with such
hope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know. Maybe, but probably not. You have to get
through something difficult with a good attitude in order to have screen-time
again.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say this every time, thinking about
Homework, After-Dinner Chores, and the Morning Routine the next day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IiIRM1ByHDw/VCr6BThdeJI/AAAAAAAAOJg/tElOzyw4xtw/s1600/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IiIRM1ByHDw/VCr6BThdeJI/AAAAAAAAOJg/tElOzyw4xtw/s1600/bridge.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After this process gets repeated for several days in a row, after the starvation for Minecraft has gone on unbearably long, you wake up a different girl,
all ready to cooperate, all ready to Do First Things First and all ready to
<i>Yes, Mom</i> your way through breakfast and flossing and vitamins. And it’s like
the sweetest relief because, from all appearances, I don’t seem to have wrecked
you or destroyed our connection, despite your comments from the day before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some day, we will get to the other side of this canyon we
are crossing; we will have taken our last shaky step on an unsteady bridge. That other
side is where, I think, I will sigh in relief that we made it. We won't have lost our footing too terribly much. And I'll be calmer--because
there won't be any more fear of us falling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-14331143232152961962014-09-29T13:17:00.000-05:002014-09-29T13:17:15.690-05:00Monday Must-Reads (September 29)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #7d7d7d; font-family: Copse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" height="192" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a><br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Happy Monday! Here are some good, if not disturbing reads, that made their way to my phone this week.<br />
<br />
<b>For parents who want their kids not to cave to peer pressure</b>: "<a href="http://momastery.com/blog/2014/09/24/this-is-what-brave-means/?utm_source=feedly&utm_reader=feedly&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=this-is-what-brave-means" target="_blank">This is What Brave Means</a>."<br />
<br />
<b>For those who love the Cosby Show, Claire Huxtable in particular, and how black women are empowered through TV portrayals</b>: "<a href="http://janetmock.com/2014/09/23/tv-angry-black-woman-shonda-rhimes-clair-huxtable/" target="_blank">Claire Huxtable, TV's Great Angry Black Woman</a>."<br />
<br />
<b>For those who feel we emphasize that beauty = value far too often: </b>"<a href="http://kateelizabethconner.com/enough/?utm_source=feedly&utm_reader=feedly&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=enough">Enough.</a>"<br />
<br />
<b>For women and men who care about gender equality</b>: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0Dg226G2Z8" target="_blank">Emma Watson</a>'s HeForShe address to the United Nations....And, this article from The Guardian about the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/sep/24/rape-sexual-assault-ban-frats" target="_blank">incidence of sexual assault perpetrated by campus fraternities.</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-18006661922048532642014-09-24T07:00:00.000-05:002014-09-24T08:44:21.287-05:00For You Who Live at Home, (Epistolary Wednesday)<blockquote class="tr_bq">
On Wednesdays, I write letters.</blockquote>
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<b>For You Who Live at Home</b>,<br />
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I left a conference a couple weekends ago after speaking at
its three sessions. The event was well-put together, inspiring, crafted and--I’ll say it--touched by heaven in all the right ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received the sort of feedback you would
wish for if you had traveled halfway across the country and poured your heart
and soul into two-and-a-half hours of sharing with 300 women. There were
moments of deep connection, as if the
power of sharing our stories and God’s stories bound up some of our broken
hearts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Afterward, as I boarded the O’Hare-bound flight, I was content with the
outcome of the conference and ready to see my family. It was then, as I stood in the aircraft to find my seat that I received news that my book had been reviewed in one
of our local papers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a terrible review. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Terrible both in its opinion of the book and (in my opinion)
its way of reviewing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Naturally, I did what any of you might do and I sent a link
to the review to all of the people who I think love my book the best, an
invitation to all of them to write their best rebuttals, to boost my
self-esteem, to reassure me that the work I’d broken my heart over was indeed
worthy, was indeed worthwhile, was indeed something other than “terse” and
“vague.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And this fleet of writing and non-writing friends came
through. After my three-hour flight, I had re-patched that hole in my writerly
armor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But before hearing from my friends, while I was up in the
sky, I tried to root myself. Closed my eyes, thought a prayer, asked for
heaven’s way of thinking about my book and this review. And as quickly as I
did, I gave up listening—too agitated, too anxious. I flipped on the plane’s
entertainment console and scrolled through television show options.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only thing that interested me were the
three TED talks, and one in particular labeled “Success, Failure, and the Drive
to Keep Creating.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t realize that
this talk was given by Elizabeth Gilbert, the Eat-Pray-Love guru. I didn’t
realize that she would be discussing her own failure and success in writing.
And as this seven-minute video unwound for me, I was startled by what seemed to
be heaven’s answer, delivered while I was suspended in the sky. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Gilbert wrote about the blinding success of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eat, Pray, Love </i>and the equally
uprooting failure of her subsequent book, both of which flung her far off from
her “home,” her Rooted Middle. Home, she said, “is whatever you love in this
world more than you love yourself.” And you get back there by “putting your
head down and performing with diligence and devotion and respect and reverence
whatever the task is that love is calling forth from you next.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It raised the right questions for me: Where was my Middle?
Where was my Home? And what task was love calling forth from me next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pictured myself on a quiet, sunny day in
front of the piano keyboard in my office, in stillness, in quiet, making music,
and, in front of the laptop keyboard, fitting words together. I thought of my
literal home, filled with shoes and laundry and messy little people who would
need their lunches packed, their skinned elbows patched and their worries
soothed the next day. Great failure and great success don’t eliminate the
beckoning of our Rooted Middles, our Homes. Those call to us whether we are suffering
divorce and betrayal or job loss, whether we've received great performance reviews or all the praise we
could ever imagine garnering. And in this sense, Home becomes our
hiding place from the trauma and drama and clamor of public opinion. Also, Home is the place that shows you if you're loving well and if you respect and revere the job before you in the way it merits your respect and reverence. This is something success and failure won't ever tell you.<br />
<br />
And so I resolve to do what you have done so well. When life flings me far off center, I will skirt and jump and run and dodge and roll my way back to Home.</div>
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<a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_success_failure_and_the_drive_to_keep_creating" target="_blank">Elizabeth Gilbert on "Success, Failure, and the Drive to Keep Creating."</a></div>
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Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-87516351202854409402014-09-22T08:30:00.000-05:002014-09-22T08:30:00.996-05:00Monday Must-Reads (Monday, September 22)<div>
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<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" height="192" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a></td></tr>
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<br />Well, in case you were paying attention, I missed posting must-reads last week. I was jet-lagged and a little windswept by an amazing trip and conference at Higher Vision Church in Valencia, CA, where I had the opportunity to speak at their Masterpiece conference. In between and amongst all my travels, I enjoyed reading: <br /><br /><b>For you mamas struggling to love yourself: </b>Sarah Bessey's <a href="https://www.blogger.com/">Dear Body</a>.<br /><br /><b>For you theologians:</b> <a href="http://blogs.bible.org/engage/sandra_glahn/act_like_men_what_does_paul_mean_?">"Act Like Men": What Does Paul Mean?</a><br /><br /><b>For you Christians who want to compassionately understand the "other" side</b>: <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/godlessindixie/2014/08/05/what-i-learned-about-atheists-from-gods-not-dead/">What I Learned About Atheists from God's Not Dead</a>. (And, thank you, Neil Carter, for putting into words what troubled me so much about this movie.)<br /><br /><b>For anyone alive</b>: Glennon Melton's <a href="http://momastery.com/blog/2014/09/18/how-we-live-a-life/?utm_source=feedly&utm_reader=feedly&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=how-we-live-a-life">How We Live a Hard and Good Life</a>.<br /><br /><b>For you bloggers</b>: insight from Jamie the Very Worst Missionary on how <a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2014/09/not-everyone-likes-you-word-for.html">Not Everyone Likes You</a>.Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-64590707272922370152014-09-17T07:00:00.000-05:002014-09-17T08:43:34.503-05:00Dear Skinniest Me, (Epistolary Wednesday)<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>On Wednesdays, I write letters.</i></blockquote>
<br />
Dear Skinniest Me,<br />
<br />
This is my breakup letter to you.<br />
<br />
I've spent so much time trying to keep you and, strangely, there were times I had you and didn't realize I had you 'til you'd slipped away again. (Such a common misfortune among my thirties-aged friends, I find.) I <i>know</i> I had your attention three years ago, for about a month. And then there was the time five years before that. You keep showing up like an old boyfriend at a high school reunion who promises connection and longevity and then fails to deliver. And as hard as I've tried to keep in touch, you just haven't kept it up on your end.<br />
<br />
And believe me when I say I've really tried--there was the summer that, for allergy reasons, I drank bone broth for weeks and ate only overly cooked cauliflower. And then the year, for chronic pain issues, I swore off anything that might inflame (read: carbs). Each time, I thought you were going to stay, but you didn't, and you left me adrift, all <i>Skinniest-Me-Is-My-Soulmate-but-Skinniest-Me-Gone-Broke-My-Heart</i>.<br />
<br />
Relationships take two, you know. <br />
<br />
All the walking. All the yoga. Even the kettle bells after the third baby--those godforsaken kettle bells--did not win you back. Did you ever know a gal that got walked out on and then just Couldn't. Move. On? What do therapists say to girls like that? <i>Let him go, Honey. You can do better.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Right?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yz7caZAug5M/VBiPnoF-pEI/AAAAAAAAOHQ/_Q-OGMH5uOU/s1600/skinniest%2Bme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yz7caZAug5M/VBiPnoF-pEI/AAAAAAAAOHQ/_Q-OGMH5uOU/s1600/skinniest%2Bme.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a>So I'm not waiting around for you, Skinniest Me. I'm not going to be checking the scale every morning to see if you're on a flight back to the mother ship. I'm not even going to keep the clothes on your side of the closet and in those pre-first-pregnancy bins downstairs. No. I'm really moving on. If you come back, that's your call. Don't expect me to be holding my breath or throwing any parties for you. We girls have gotta to find someone that makes us feel like we're more than just some skin and just some bones. We've gotta find a reason for getting up in the morning other than those Skinniest-Me jeans. Because we've got Skills and we've got Dreams and we've got Places to Be and Things to Do and People to Talk To and a World to Change and We Don't Got the Time to waste on wondering if you're gonna call.Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-78779233685904197422014-09-10T07:00:00.000-05:002014-09-10T07:00:00.951-05:00Dear Couch-to-5K App (Epistolary Wednesday, September 10),<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t3adQIkfOt0/VAcU7AyFLxI/AAAAAAAAN-g/gK2GIMpwjZw/s1600/1483344473_1b6eb8234c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t3adQIkfOt0/VAcU7AyFLxI/AAAAAAAAN-g/gK2GIMpwjZw/s1600/1483344473_1b6eb8234c.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a>Dear Couch-to-5K App,<br />
<br />
There's so much promise in your description--a simple hyphenated identifier that links lethargy and weakness to domination and endurance. Do you know I've been trying to master you, or something like you, for fifteen years? Before that, in high school, I never really even tried to run. I was the kid with the doctor's note and the inhaler the size of a small squirrel that I carted around for line dancing and aerobics units in P.E. Run the mile? Ha. I got out of everything that got my heart rate up just a teeny bit. And to be honest, I lost no sleep over missing any of these sweaty indignities.<br />
<br />
Then, in my early twenties, when fitness seemed like the thing to achieve (and in the land of severe body dysmorphia that so many of us gals traverse), I tried to run and I was full of pain and felt like my body was going to fall apart or lock up or implode and so I had to stop. Also, I had no plan, no goal, no pathway to run longer, faster. But <i>you</i> now, you offer <i>steps--</i>that are sometimes just a little slow for my taste but they make this whole endeavor possible, doable. Me and my treadmill and my crappy running shoes that hurt my feet started out running one-and-a-half minute stints about seven weeks ago and now, this week, I'm going to run for 40. God willing.<br />
<br />
I sure hope he is.<br />
<br />
Sure, it's been uncomfortable. My trapezius muscles are screamy for some reason, and my arches started to ache, which precipitated the purchase of the $100 dollar running shoes, but my greatest moment in our journey together so far was the 13-minute mile. You may laugh, but it's never been done before by this body, this woman who had has had three babies and allergies and asthma and neck injuries. You made me a believer. I can run. I am one of those people who <i>can.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Now, there's one thing I'm not. I'm not the woman who can lose twenty pounds doing this. Couch-to-5K does not equal slimmer, necessarily, and I had to surrender that hope, it couldn't be about weight loss or inches loss because whenever exercise is about <i>that, </i>and whenever <i>that</i> is not achieved,<i> </i>it's a sure-fire formula for Giving Up. Because who would keep running 40-minute stints for weight loss if they never lost weight? Answer: a crazy person would.<br />
<br />
So here's me celebrating something unseen--a heart rate that stays elevated for longer than two minutes without my running out of breath, and the ability to pace myself and finish well, which is, really, what I want for all of life, not just for these new miles in these new shoes.<br />
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<br />Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-4909121777631559202014-09-08T07:28:00.001-05:002014-09-08T07:28:30.135-05:00Monday Must-Reads (September 8, 2014)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #7d7d7d; font-family: Copse; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #170701; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UHHvtLrMrg/U3XqknLMXRI/AAAAAAAANdg/ZXtu6-QCYfo/s1600/reads+and+watches.jpg" style="border: none; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" style="color: #170701; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a></td></tr>
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Happy Monday, y'all. So, I read as much as I normally do this week and there wasn't as much that moved me as usual. But here are three little tidbits that got me kind of excited. The first one, the one I'm calling the <a href="http://narrowbackslacker.com/2014/05/13/how-i-limited-screen-time-by-offering-my-kids-unlimited-screen-time/" target="_blank">amazing screen-time experiment</a>, appears to be absolutely genius on the surface. It took me, I don't know, fifteen minutes after reading it to implement and design my own version. And now my children are asking to get up early to do chores (!) and read (!) and do "productive, creative activities" (!). Jury's still out on the longevity of this plan, but Day 3 is going great. </div>
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Sarah Bessey's here, on seasons of our lives where we haven't quite grown in all the ways we'll be glad we've grown later, and being gracious toward our younger selves: <a href="http://sarahbessey.com/know-sorry-kind/" target="_blank">I know. I'm sorry. I hope I was kind.</a></div>
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And, this week was a double header for hearing that two babies were coming to two moms who've experienced long roads of miscarriage and infertility in their mama years: love this story from, again, Sarah: "<a href="http://sarahbessey.com/baby-surprises-miracles/" target="_blank">173 beats a minute: on one surprising little baby and the possibility of tiny miracles.</a>"</div>
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Have a good one!</div>
Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-21398561579450901552014-09-03T07:00:00.000-05:002014-09-03T07:00:01.586-05:00Dear Seventh Grader, (Epistolary Wednesday, September 3)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.wylio.com/credits/flickr/5762454084/"><img alt="Learning is Required from Flickr via Wylio" id="Flickr-5762454084-1409281571385" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5028/5762454084_3a14f6631f_z.jpg" title="'Learning is Required' by Enokson, released on Flickr under the Creative Commons Attribution License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/), found via Wylio" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">© 2011 <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/vblibrary/" title="'Learning is Required' published on Flickr by Enokson">Enokson</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/vblibrary/5762454084/" title="from Flickr">Flickr</a> | <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/" style="font-size: .8em;" title="Creative Commons Attribution License
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">CC-BY</a> | <a href="https://www.wylio.com/" title="Easily credit free 'junior high' pictures with Wylio.">via Wylio</a></td></tr>
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It's a bit overwhelming, all of the flyers we are handed at Back-To-School-Night for parents, as we race through a two-hour version of your day--no time to introduce ourselves to your teachers, just enough for them to get halfway through their presentation on Expectations and Rules and Late Work. It seems, at times (maybe because of the lengthy lists of homework assignments sorted by date on their slide shows) that they are expecting <i>us</i> to do this work, to keep track and get things handed in. <i>You'll want to make sure</i>. <i>You'll want to check</i>. These are phrases I hear over and over throughout these first two weeks of junior high when teachers and administrators talk to us parents and I think, I don't have <i>time</i> to manage the full-time job of a seventh grader who is also in cross country practice for an hour and a half after school. Who has time for that? Also, I'm not sure I <i>want</i> to sign up for the texting service that will remind me of Global Studies projects and science assignments. </div>
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I know that some of your classmates' parents have to, in order to help their kids succeed. That's a hard, hard job. So I'm thankful that, in so many ways, you are prepared for all of this responsibility. You know how to keep track, make lists. Your upbringing has cultivated in you just the right amount of anxiety by which you're driven to fill out worksheets on time, hand in two-paragraph "essays" (Although, newsflash: two paragraphs does <i>not</i> a real essay make!).</div>
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Still, this Junior High is a New World where it doesn't necessarily matter how diligent you are or how responsible. What matters is your score. What matters is the "work." No more points for just <i>doing</i> homework. Points are for getting homework <i>right.</i> The difference between an A and a B on math homework might be that when you carried the "one" you forgot to add it into the other numbers in the column. Boom. B.</div>
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While grade school was so full of mercy, this New World is not. And I sometimes wish you'd been a bit better prepared in other areas--in sentence mechanics, for example: run-on sentences and missing periods never cost you so much as a point or a missed recess in sixth grade. Now you get As for periods in the right places and you get points taken away in their absence. (Finally, finally, someone is going to convince you to take the sentence seriously even though I've been trying since you were eight. Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.)</div>
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While it's a all bit overwhelming for you, I must confess I find myself swimming in a small pool of relief All those skills I've been watching you develop and waiting for you to master--to be <i>motivated</i> to master--are within mastery's reach. Think: typing! Think: practicing the trombone with more regularity. Think: taking the long way when deconstructing a book plot rather than short-cutting through worksheets. So much is on the horizon. All because of Seventh Grade. The whole world has opened up to you, taking you quite seriously for the first time: hard practices, hard drills, missing points, consequences. I've always taken you seriously, of course, but like grade school, I've been brimming with mercy, shielding you when I could from Discomfort and Unpleasantness and, as parents are sometimes guilty of doing, shielding myself from the Unpleasantness of your displeasure.</div>
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Now you have all these other adults in your life who will work with me to expose you to rigor and discipline, which will result in your broadening your horizons and your scope for critical thought. I could have wept with gratitude--your Language Arts teacher talking about the greatly detailed feedback you will get on your writing ability this fall, your Literacy teacher saying she is going to push you to "prove" your interpretations now with textual evidence. This is so good. It's the stuff I live for. I'm a little bit of a language arts nerd, as you know, and I'm so glad we can share this now. And I'm secretly as delighted as you are that you got an A+ on that "essay" I helped you with.<br />
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That's my daughter-of-an-English-major girl. </div>
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Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-25677498734381600642014-09-01T07:00:00.000-05:002014-09-01T07:00:05.382-05:00Monday Must-Reads and Watches (September 1)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/technology/gamesblog/2013/dec/11/ten-books-every-gamer-should-read" target="_blank">Linda Nylind for The Guardian</a><br />
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Happy September to you readers! I've got a great list of reads this week, starting out with something reminiscent of a topic we'll be covering at <a href="http://media.wix.com/ugd/d80b81_9cc5d4d20c9f41e49049aa7feb8e93ca.pdf" target="_blank">our women's retreat this coming October</a> (all ya locals are invited!)--it's <a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2014/08/what-i-want-you-to-know-about-being_29.html" target="_blank">What I Want You To Know About Being the Stepmom</a>. <br />
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There's also a humorous account of a parent's "<a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/back-to-school-the-70s-vs-today/" target="_blank">back-to-school" experience in 2014 vs. 1970</a>, which dovetails nicely with Health, Home, & Happiness's post about <a href="http://www.healthhomehappy.com/2014/08/keeping-children-from-feeling-deprived-when-you-own-less-the-importance-of-adding-back-in-good-things.html?utm_source=feedly&utm_reader=feedly" target="_blank">helping children feel content without feeling deprived.</a></div>
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Kate Conner has a great meditation "<a href="http://kateelizabethconner.com/on-ripening/?utm_source=feedly&utm_reader=feedly&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=on-ripening" target="_blank">On Ripening"</a> and Sarah Bessey writes to her husband about<a href="http://sarahbessey.com/tell-love-doesnt-show-movies-love-songs/" target="_blank"> their married love</a>, which will go down in the family history books as the stuff of legend. </div>
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Owlhaven is challenging us all to <a href="http://www.owlhaven.net/2014/08/29/join-my-spending-challenge/" target="_blank">spend less and save on groceries this month</a>, something I will have a hard time doing because of all the back-to-school extras we've been buying. </div>
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On a more serious-but-funny-to-make-a-point is <a href="http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2014/08/jon-stewart-on-white-privilege.html" target="_blank">Jon Stewart on White Privilege</a>.</div>
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Also, Matthew Paul Turner's <a href="http://matthewpaulturner.com/2014/08/28/5-lingering-effects-fundamentalism/" target="_blank">Lingering Effects of Fundamentalism</a> is for those still raw from harsh religious church cultures and, speaking of church culture, this is the latest on Seattle's Mars Hill church: the board of elders are asking for <a href="http://matthewpaulturner.com/2014/08/29/last-blog-post-mark-driscoll/" target="_blank">Mark Driscoll to resign and seek personal help</a>. </div>
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Until next time!<br />
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Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31029580.post-60506593305011973422014-08-27T07:00:00.001-05:002014-08-27T07:00:11.148-05:00Dear Anonymous Facebooker, (Epistolary Wednesday, August 27) #tbw<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><i>On Wednesdays, I write letters. (And this one's a throwback to <a href="http://onravenstreet.blogspot.com/2012/01/dear-anonymous-facebooker.html" target="_blank">my original post in 2012</a>.)</i></span></span></blockquote>
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<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Dear Anonymous Facebooker,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I saw your post today. The one about believing in Jesus Christ and challenging other believers to put the same post on their wall. You said Jesus said he would deny us in front of God, if we deny him in front of our “peers.” It’s a simple test, you said. If you are not afraid, then re-post.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">You probably don’t know this—probably you had no desire to have this effect on me--but your post makes me want to do the opposite. Because it inspires guilt and fear in me, a lover of Jesus who gets by in the world because of and out of the conversations I have with him daily: the questions and answers and simple moments of divine presence felt. Yet, Jesus never told me—he didn’t, I promise—to copy and paste your status update on my Facebook page. And I wonder at the audacity of a mere human trying to boil down a relationship with divinity (and everyone’s afterlife statuses-to-be) to whether one hits cntrol-c followed by cntrl-v on a keyboard. It seems so black and white. So cut and dried. So harsh, really. Do this, or else. Or else—what? Damnation? Eternal Punishment? Separation from God for eternity?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I don't believe in this kind of God. The kind that is upstairs devising tests by which he can damn us all <em>quickly</em>. Hey—using Facebook for the job is so efficient<em>.</em> All he has to do is count.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Do you remember that Peter denied Christ three times--and yet. Peter was also martyred for his love for Christ, crucified upside down. Because of love. For Christ.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Anonymous Facebooker, I want to introduce you to Wiggle Room. If you peer into the economy of Christ’s kingdom, I believe you’ll find an X factor, so that a man like Peter, who denied him three times, and then testified for Christ, died for the sake of that testimony, is <em>welcomed</em> by Christ—not denied by him. The X factor: can we call it Grace? Grace that doesn’t damn us to hell the second, the moment, we speak or don’t speak, act or don’t act, repost your silly status on our FB page or not. Because there are a hundred times a week I speak or don’t, act or don’t, and yet I know this Grace that looks at the whole picture of my heart, Grace that gives me an opportunity to be in process, to make mistakes and recover, to arrive at my own understanding and final revelation of divinity or not divinity in my life.</span></span><br />
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<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Maybe I don't sound very gracious toward <em>you.</em> I'm sorry. I need to take deep breaths and back away slowly when I see status updates like these. I have to write an entry like this over the span of a week because I'm working on telling the truth as I see it with love.</span></span><br />
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<span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And here's my bottom line: </span></span><span class="messagebody"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">God’s not riding Zuckerberg’s coattails.. </span></span>Heather Weberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11600363520986510021noreply@blogger.com0