Best. Citizen. Ever.

Today is election day!  Once I got a postcard in the mail that had my voting record for the past five years (whether or not I had voted, not how I had voted) and it make me think, "Hey, someone's paying attention to that!"  You know, usually whether you vote is secret, sort of like whether you floss or whether you really wash your hands after EACH trip to the bathroom.  We all know we should do it, but no one really asks you or holds you accountable.

While living in Ecuador I learned that there, if you're a registered voter who doesn't vote, there are consequences.  The government will take your ID card which means you can't get a legal job; you can't get a passport so you can't leave the country legally.  In short, it's a pretty big deal.  It's called "obligatory voting" and this little tidbit should be considered when looking at those self-satisfied lists of countries where the voter turnout is better than the US.

Here in the US we try to be a little cooler about it than that.  After all, we're big on individual rights , including your right to be a slacker and not care.  Is that wise?  THAT's another blog post.  Meanwhile, the result of this is that our voter turnout tends to run at about 58%.  As a participation grade, that's a solid F.  But I'm not really here to write about the people who don't vote.

Today whilst using the snazzy electronic voting device at Redeemer Lutheran Church, it crossed my mind that maybe we don't really WANT everyone to vote?  I mean, when it comes to running a country, maybe we should aim a little higher than just showing up?

Let me give you a little peek into my decision-making process as I voted today.

[disclaimers that make me feel slightly less guilty for my level of bad citizenship:  Please note that I'm fairly new to my community and therefore don't know most of these people.  Furthermore, I live in a city of about 250,000, so "knowing everyone" isn't ever going to happen.  Ever.

I also didn't plan to vote because I expected to be working from 8-5 and then grabbing supper in time to arrive at my 6-9pm class, neither of which is close to my polling location, so I didn't even bother to try to guilt myself into doing research about issues or candidates.  I fully recognize that these are both shameless, overcome-able excuses]

Ballot question samples:

-Should we restructure the local government to put everything in one central place?  (this isn't the real wording.  the real wording read like an excerpt from the declaration of independence and must certainly have excluded a big chunk of the populace by simply preventing them from understanding the question itself.  seriously?  that makes me mad)

Leslie thinks:  Uh...    Hmm.  Well, consolidation can be good; can help everyone be aware of what's happening in other areas of the office.  On the other hand, re-organization is a lot of work and prevents other productivity while it's happening so if it's not really needed, it could just be a waste of time and resources.  Will this involve buying or remodeling property?  Will it cost money?  Will it cost jobs?  Who's in charge?  How long will it take?  What's the argument against it?  IS there an argument against it, or is everyone involved for it?  WHY AM I MAKING THIS DECISION?!?!

This is only the first question.  Off to a banner start.

On to the people.  I was sad there was nothing about funding for schools, police, firefighters, or other help-the-community stuff.  I'd ALWAYS rather throw my money at that stuff than at a re-organization project.  Those are the only issues I ever feel confident about.  But alas.  On to the people.

-Vote for one city counsel member.  I pick the woman.

-Vote for three school board representatives.  I picked one from each party (they should balance each other out, right?).

-I actually voted for one guy because his name was a word for a flower, and I figured that anyone growing up with that kind of challenge is either a criminal or chock-full of character.  Since he's on the ballot, it's probably the latter.  He gets my vote.

-Should ______ continue to be a _______?  Yes.  I have no idea, but I'll go with yes.  Hopefully if ______ was doing a really crappy job at being a ________ BEFORE, s/he wouldn't be on the ballot again?  I hope.  Yes.

-Vote for one ______.  (there is only one option).  I voted for each of those.  Does this even make a difference?

Do you see what I'm saying?  I'm a terribly irresponsible voter.  Maybe you are, too.

As a fixer, my thoughts after voting were all along the lines of why.  If we know WHY I'm a terribly irresponsible voter, maybe I can work toward solving that problem.  So what's the problem?  I love my country, so that's not it.

Is it simply that I'm lazy?  Well, I am lazy, but I doubt that's the whole answer.

I feel overwhelmed by the time and energy it would take to be informed on every issue.  I'm not even sure if I'm allowed to take a cheat sheet into the ballot with me and I sure know I wouldn't be able to memorize it all!  And if I decided next time to commit to that level of effort, I don't know how I would go about it.  That's not to say that I couldn't figure it out.  I'm pretty smart.  I could figure it out.  But it's just one more roadblock.

I rarely find someone who really represents me.  I'm too liberal on social issues to be a republican.  I'm too conservative on moral issues to be a democrat.  So even after knowing the platforms, I generally end up not really agreeing with anyone.  That's discouraging.

Another piece is that I not-so-secretly feel like my vote isn't really that important, and that notches down my motivation level a bit.

So there you have it.  I voted.  For better or worse, I showed up.  I did NOT get a sticker, which I'm fairly disgruntled about.  But then again maybe the sticker shouldn't say "I voted".  Maybe it should say "I researched the issues and voted informed".  Now THAT would merit a sticker, don't you think?

Zawadi, the Dentist, and Changing Lives

Warning: this post is a shameless (though un-paid) endorsement of the work that Compassion does in the lives of people living in poverty around the world.

I've sponsored children through Compassion since I was 16 and I highly recommend it.  They are a solid organization that strives to help alleviate poverty not through handouts, but rather through education and multi-generational training as well as helping with immediate material needs.  I like that they use local staff whenever possible, that they rarely raise costs (I think it was $24/month when I started in 1996 and it's $38/month now), that they don't write asking more money beyond your monthly sponsorship, and that they encourage and help facilitate site visits of your child when possible.  If you're interested in making a very tangible difference in the life of a child, here's their website, where you can learn more: Compassion 

This weekend I got a letter from my current Compassion kid, Zawadi.  Compassion facilitates these communications to and from the kids and sponsors maybe about 4 or 5 times a year, and it's always fun to read what is sent.  Zawadi is six and lives in Kenya.  One day soon I expect I'll be getting letters that she writes herself, but for now they're often fill-in-the-blank type formats, and they're always written for her by a Kenyan Compassion staff person.  This letter made me laugh (as per usual) and also made me feel slightly ashamed of my feelings about going to the dentist.  I thought I'd share it with you, so you can enjoy it too.

Side One, (fill-in-the-blank) "My Dental Checkup"

My last dental checkup was on June 21, 2014.  The dental checkup was done at our project center.  I went for my dental checkup with went alone.  [editor's note: I personally LOVE doing stuff with Went Alone.  That guy's a laugh a minute.]  I felt very happy about going to my dental checkup.  [another editor's note:  really?  man.  I feel like an entitled jerk for not going to the dentist because it's scary and it always hurts me.  I'm such a crappy adult.]  One thing that was done at my dental checkup was thorough teeth checkup.  [editor is note-happy: Wow, didn't see that coming!  In other news, I'm suspicious Zawadi didn't actually fill this one in herself.]  At my dental checkup I learned that sweety sweet foods are not good for my teeth.

Side Two, Freestyle

The top of the page has a coloring and drawing area.  Here, take a look.  I think you'll agree that it's already obvious that Zawadi is an artistic genius.

Please note the strength of feeling our young artist put into the coloring of that puppy.  Look how well she stayed in the lines!!  Is that good for six?  I have no idea.  I don't have kids, but I'm pretty sure she's a prodigy.  And check out that handbag she drew next to it!  

Under the pictures is says this:

"Hallo Leslie!!  How are you?  How is your family doing?, she asks.  Zawadi says she thanks God for this far he has brought them.  Zawadi says that her family prays for you and always loves you.  They wish you good health and God's blessings in everything you do."

So yah.  Sponsor a kid.  It's pretty fantastic.  You can do it yourself (even if you're a teenage without a job.  I know from experience).  You can do it as a family (what a great way to teach your kids about helping others, yes?)  You can sponsor as a group (youth group?  small group?  quilting circle?  cricket club?  whatever.)  If you want to know more about it, I would love to talk with you.  $38 a month to change a kid's life.  Plus awesome notes like this one above.  How much easier could it be?

We Do Not Know

This blog is about this newscast.

I watch this and I think about how I have no framework for this sort of event.  I'm like a 2 year old who sees a deer and calls it a cow, because that's the closest thing in his vocabulary.

I see glimpses of what is happening in places like Iraq and Israel and Palestine and I call it "tragedy" or "terrible" or some other impotent word because that's the closest thing in my experience.  It's all I've got.  I don't really understand it.

Just like I don't understand a whole host of hard things that are part of normal life for so much of the world:
Hunger.
True need.
War.
Bombs.

I don't understand what it means to be hunted down for any reason, but especially not because someone hates me for the religion I was born into.

I have never witnessed the kind of hate that looks a person in the eyes and then chooses to steal the life from them.  It's here- that kind of hate- in my own country.  I know this, but I have never experienced it myself.  And I certainly have never experienced it being allowed to run unchecked through the land.

What is going on in the minds of those who managed to climb onboard that helicopter?  What about those who didn't?

"About 20" go on.  "About 40,000" are trapped.  That's gonna take a lot of trips.

And even for those to get on the helicopter: Where will they go?  Will they ever get to go home?  See their families?  Return to some sense of normal?  Will some country take them in?  Will they end up here, in my country?  Will people jeer at them and tell them to "Learn English or go back to your own country?"  Will we really do that to these precious, traumatized people as we have to so many other precious, traumatized people who have fled to us for help in the past?  May it not be so.

Or will they never even be "lucky" enough to face our scorn?  Will they spend the rest of their lives in a refugee camp somewhere, joining the masses of displaced people who never make it back home?

Why was I born here and that little girl was born in Iraq?  So much that I don't understand.

And then I think Oh, it's time to get ready for bed.

I go about my normal routine.  I will lament being alone; I will probably be awakened sometime in the night by the noise of my frat-boy neighbors having a party.  I will hit my snooze too many times before I get up in the morning.  I'll put out my trash and go to work and meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, a little girl is boosted to safety in a rescue helicopter.  Or she isn't.  And my brain stops.  The confusion and sorrow are too thick.  They clog my brain and I run out of comprehension.

These are the times to be thankful for this promise from Romans 8:26- "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with wordless groans."

Oh friends.  We do not know.  We are caught up in a crazy tornado of chaos.  Of horror and monotony and the guilt we feel for worrying about school clothes and Pinterest projects and movies while the world falls apart around us.

It's not that we don't care.  Most of us are sorry this is happening.  But we don't ache.  It's that we don't understand or know what to do.  We are uninspired because we don't know- the people, the places, the pain, the fear.  We are limited creatures.  Perhaps out of mercy, we have been created to disconnect from that which we don't understand if we are allowed to do it.

We disconnect, and that is easier for us, but there is a price for this disconnecting.  That little girl will pay it.  Or maybe her sister will, still trapped in the mountains.  She waits in the heat.  For water.  For rescue.  For hope.  But the question is, will it come?

Hope, Fear, Determination

"That's what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most."
-Hope Floats

I am tired to the very core of my life being a never-ending series of beginnings and endings.  I'm not getting enough middle.  Since I graduated college I have moved communities- like, everyone in my life is new- five times.  I am currently living in my second Reset situation in two years.  And in a few minutes I will voluntarily go do another small beginning in this year of beginnings.

Another I-need-to-introduce-myself-to-everyone-in-the-room evening.

Maybe this time the stars will align and I'll get to stay here and people will have a chance to KNOW me and for me to KNOW them and they will become my family so that I don't have to live life by myself.

Maybe.  Hope is frail, but it's hard to kill.

It's exhausting and scary, walking in alone.  Full of flashbacks of walking into the cafeteria on the first day of high school...

...nagging whispers of insecurity...

...pangs of longing for the family and people-turned-family that you had to leave behind and you wish were at your side now, reminding you that no matter what these new people think, at least one person in the room knows who you are and loves you anyway.

Moving is hard.  Being single is harder.  Doing both at the same time is like being forced to participate in an emotional version of American Ninja Warrior on steroids.  It tests your nerve and teaches you about yourself.  Hard lessons.

I'm not as confident as I'd like.  But brave isn't fearless.  Brave is determined.

So tonight I will again insist that my hope win out over my fear.  I will walk in, imaginary plastic cafeteria tray in my hands, and try to remember names.  Smile and answer questions.  Endure the awkward silences endemic in baby relationships.  I will be determined.  I will protect that tiny bit of hope that tells me this won't always be my life.  And I will pray that my hope is telling me the truth.

Peas please!

I don't really remember how I decided to grow a sun-room garden.  It was probably related to the crazy-cold-snowy winter we have just survived in the Midwest.  I do know a real garden was never a real consideration, thanks to the bunnies that live in my yard.  My neutral feelings toward rabbits combine with my laziness to equate an aversion to planting food for bunnies.  So I decided I could do some potted garden plants in my sunroom, well out of reach of my kitties.  Cause I can actually throw them farther than I trust them.

Anyway, I went to Menards.  I wanted to grow some tomatoes.  I did some stellar, high-school-project-worthy internet research and was armed with the knowledge that tomato plants need about 5 gallons of dirt each.  I find this to be a little greedy, but my feelings seemed unlikely to change anything in this situation, I resigned myself to feed my tomato plants' gluttony for dirt.

The Plan was to leave with some big plant pots, some tomato plants, and some dirt.

What I actually left with was a seed bed flat, a bag of starter soil, and three packets of seeds.  As it turns out, you can't find tomato plants in northern Indiana in early April.  It's too early.

Already smarter.

So I planted those tiny little tomato seeds.  Was I surprised that they looked like the seeds you find in the tomatoes on your sandwich?  Yes I was.  Does this make any sense?  No it doesn't.

I also plants some snap peas.  The directions said the peas should be "direct sown", not started and later transplanted.  But I had no place to direct sow anything, so I planted them in the seed bed flat, too.  I mean, it's an art, not a science, yes?  Here's what it looked like.  I realize that this is not an interesting photo, but I take pictures when I'm proud of myself...

Water and wait.  And the magic begins.  Have you ever grown something from seed?  It's like watching a miracle.  I know that science can explain it, but for me, the explanation takes nothing away from the magic of watching something that seems dead come to life.  Life pops out of the dirt.  I think it explains why you don't often run into an atheistic farmer.

A few days later and my peas, by far faster than the tomatoes, were ready to graduate to big boy and girl beds.  Happily, my green-thumb-friend Megan happened to be coming that weekend, and she was willing to help.  Everything in life is better with a friend along for the ride.

We headed to the store.  Cause buying dirt isn't weird for the rest of the world.  The prices of the containers were insane.  Like, $25 each.  And I would need, oh, maybe 10.  Luckily, I came up with a solution.

Disney Princess to the rescue!!  I bought a kiddie pool.  It was $13.  Please note that it says, "A dream is a wish for every princess."  This nonsense leaves me hoping that line's a poor Chinglish translation and not Disney's intention.  Anyway.  Process pictures...

Am I using a serving spoon as a trowel?  Yes.  Am I feeling happy?  Again, yes.  As is Megan, in her stance of victory (pictured here with slotted spoon).

Our finished project.  Yah, we planted our peas in two concentric circles.  Were we considering staking the plants?  Um, no.  Well, I should speak for myself.  Megan may have been, but I wasn't.  Oops.

But never fear!  A couple weekends later, as the plants reached heights of a foot or so, on the porch with Dad and Sue and Sara, we came up with a great staking plan.  Using my smarty-pants phone pictures, Dad's tape measure, my estimating gestures, and our awesome mathematical skills, we figured out how much wire fencing I would need, and Dad cut me the piece.  He formed it into the right shape for me and I carried it home to The Fort.  If fit perfectly.  Shazzam!!

You're amazed, right?

Look at those beautiful peas!  I can't wait until I get to eat some yummy-lishous snap peas right from my sunroom!

If You're Not Spending the Evening With Your Valentine

Here it is- 6:45pm on Valentine's Day.

If you get to be with your Valentine today, Happy Valentine's Day!  I hope that you're spending the day being loved well by the one you love.  If you happen to find yourself at Red Lobster, please eat a Cheddar Bay Biscuit on my behalf.  Seriously.

But this message isn't really for you.

This message is for us.

Those of us who don't look forward to Valentine's Day.  Those of us who squeeze our eyes shut tight and try to get through the day with as little sorrow as possible.  We, who walk that line, sometimes less-than-successfully, of trying to not seem jaded or bitter or jealous or lonely on this day that makes us feel most jaded or bitter or jealous or lonely.

This message?  It's for me, from my Father.  And if God is your Father too, and you hurt on February 14 too, then this message is for you, too.

If you don't have a Valentine
If you have never known a February 14th with a Valentine and you wonder why
If you can't be with your Valentine today because they have gone where you can't follow
If your own arms are empty and you wish for nothing more than to celebrate this day with your own little ones

I'm sorry for how much harder this day can make that.  I'm sorry with the groaning, weeping, gut-wrenching sorrow of someone who understands each of these places.

Will you let me remind you?  You are not forgotten in the chaotic mess of pink and hearts and red and flowers not for you.

I see you.

Better, far better, God sees you.

He holds our tears in a bottle, yours and mine- not forgotten; never wasted.  Each tear for a purpose, Truth tells us, though Feelings tries to convince us otherwise.  Don't believe Feelings.

Remember with me that Truth is more important than Feelings.  The Truth is that we couldn't be more loved- not if our kitchen tables and office desks were veritable mountains of rose bouquets or if we'd gotten enough chocolates today to send us into a sugar coma to last until the first good spring thaw.  We couldn't be more loved, even if our arms were full of someone to love.

Remember with me that this world is not our Home.

Home is coming, though.

Home will be when our feelings and Truth finally match up.  When we will not only KNOW we are loved, but we will FEEL loved beyond our wildest dreams.  Love so deep and unconditional and full and rich and nourishing and playful and glittering and perfect, that hearts and chocolates and flowers won't stand a chance.  We will forgot the sensation of being lonely.  Can you even imagine!?!?

We will know only the Truth of Love.  And it will be forever.

But in the meantime, you and me?  We're going to fight our way through.  We're going to press into Jesus and know that He will sustain us and that one day all will be well, though today feels anything but.  I am praying you through today.  Will you do the same for me?

And now I leave you not with Happy Valentine's Day, but with a better closing, and this if for all of us who call God Father:

Cling to Truth until we're home, friend.   One day in Heaven.