Choosing my words

You know when you overhear that comment about you that you weren't supposed to hear? Something that probably would have been said in a different way with more carefully chosen words had the speaker known you'd be listening?

Yeah. That happened to me today.

We've all been guilty of bad-mouthing at some point or another. No one can be on their best behavior all the time. And while the comments I heard immediately hurt my feelings, made me defensive and stirred up a bunch of negative emotions, the words also made me think about what I had done to provoke such comments. I also got to thinking about what I say about other people who I assume aren't listening.

There is a Russian saying, "слова слова слова!" ("words, words, words!"), meaning that whatever has been said is empty and meaningless. Yet, words have immense power. Even the most innocent of remarks can cause great harm -- or great good.

How many proverbs and psalms and nuggets of wisdom have been written about choosing words wisely? One slip of the tongue can end a friendship, dissolve a marriage, ruin a business, end a political campaign or even a presidency. If words are this important, why aren't we more careful with what we say? Is it because we're lazy? Does it take too much time and effort to think about what we say before we say it -- do we think it doesn't really matter? Or is it because we live in such a fast-paced world that we assume people aren't listening most of the time anyway?

I heard a great quote by Maya Angelou when I was in college and it's one I need to remind myself of more often: "People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel."

Words can wound; words can heal. Words can destroy; words can uplift. Words can ruin someone's day; words can make someone's day.

I can't control the words that come out of other people's mouths, but I can control my own. I have to believe that if I do, the likelihood of a repeat of today will be greatly diminished. And that's incentive enough for me.

Vietnam

Some of you might know that I am bound for Vietnam this summer. On July 26th, I will travel to the other side of the earth with a team from my church, Area 10 Faith Community. Our task is to provide critically needed supplies for and build lasting relationships with the staff and children of SS3, a state-run orphanage 45 minutes outside of Hanoi.

It might sound strange, but making the decision to go on this trip was both simple and extremely difficult -- simple, in that I have always wanted to do something like this and now felt like the time; difficult in that I knew there would be many hurdles to jump in order to make it happen (and if you know me, you know I'm no hurdler!). There was also no guarantee that, even if I threw my name in the hat, I would be chosen to go.

Ultimately, I chose to cast all the "difficulties" aside and trust the simple urge in my heart. I applied and was accepted. Next came the hurdles.

PASSPORT. Having never traveled outside the U.S. (besides Canada and Mexico, pre-passport requirement), I needed to obtain a passport. We would also need visas, but one of the team leaders was taking care of that for us; however, a passport was needed in order to get a visa, and the turn-around time for those was more questionable. In light of this, understandably, we were asked to get passports as soon as possible. I applied in early March, thinking that would allow plenty of time, as the "normal processing time" was four weeks. Others applied around the same time I did, and received their passports in almost exactly four weeks. I, on the other hand, waited. And waited. And waited. I knew the team leaders were getting anxious to submit the visa application paperwork. I checked with the passport agency, and there was nothing wrong with my application. The status was, "processing." I thought for a moment that this first hurdle might mean I would remain firmly planted on Virginia soil come July. Then, on May 7th (Norway's Independence Day, incidentally), I received my passport in the mail. Thank you God!

FUNDRAISING.  Raising money has been my 9-5 job for nearly 10 years. I have written grants and letters asking corporations, foundations and individuals for donations ranging from $10 to $1 million. But, I have never had to solicit my family and friends. I was nervous about how my "pitch" would come across. I certainly didn't want anyone to feel obligated or guilted into supporting my trip. At the same time, I wanted to make it clear that without their support, it would not happen. Chris, our pastor, regularly encouraged us to "get after it" -- "it" being fundraising; making calls, sending letters and emails, etc. Even with his prompting, I put off sending letters. And put it off some more. And then I realized that it wasn't really up to me. Going on this trip was a divine calling. And in order to go, I would need money. And to get money, I would have to ask and have faith that it would come. When I finally sent out my letters, I was overwhelmed by the response. In no time at all, I already had accumulated more than half my goal. Over the last couple months, some people have backed out of the trip for various reasons, which meant that the individual fundraising goals for the rest of us have been bumped up a couple times. The goal has gone from $2,200 to $2,700 per person. I'm nearly there and would still welcome gifts of all sizes.

SPIRITUALITY.  In my own mind, I've always been relatively steady in my faith. Of course, most everyone has their moments of doubt and uncertainty along the way, and I am no exception. But even through my more "worldly" years, I still turned to God for guidance. This trip has got me thinking hard about my faith -- in a good way. But it has also caused my insecurities and fears to bubble to the surface. Who am I to go halfway around the globe like some sort of Crusader? What difference can I possibly make in the lives of these people? Am I doing this for the right reasons? Am I in this for me, or am I in it for God's purpose? These are the types of anxious thoughts that have been swirling through my mind lately. But today, I was reminded of a wonderful quote by Marianne Williamson that addresses these very questions:

"We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

My prayer for this trip is that I, my team, and the people we serve in Vietnam not only would be liberated from fear, but that we would all recognize our uniqueness, our preciousness, and the invaluable roles we get to play in this world as children of God. 

Hòa bình!

(Peace!)

"The needle's eye, it doth supply the thread that runs so true"

Quilters cast. Photo by Robyn O'Neill

My castmates and I are wrapping up a seven-week run of the production, Quilters at Swift Creek Mill Theatre. The show closes on Saturday, May 14th. It has been a wonderful experience and I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to be part of this incredible show with Katy Burke, T'Arah Craig, Audra Honaker, Jackie Jones, Brittany Simmons and Ali Thibodeau, and the expertise of Tom Width (director), Paul Deiss (musical director) & his orchestra, Joe Doran (light design), Maura Cravey (costume design), Betty White (stage manager) and Randy Rose (light operator). 

The production is based on the book, The Quilters: Women and Domestic Art, an Oral History by Patricia J. Cooper and Norma Bradley Allen. Women relate their own joys and hardships, as well as those of their ancestors who settled America's western plains. The stories of their lives are sewn into their quilts and passed down through the generations.

A number of references in the show have struck a personal chord with me; many true threads run through it.

Arial view of our farm, surrounded by corn & soybeans.

"You needed a lot of cover to keep warm in those old open houses on the plains." (Jackie)
 

My parents still live in the wooden 1880s one-and-a-half story house where I spent my formative years on a working farm in rural Minnesota (35 miles north of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Walnut Grove). When I was in early elementary school, we had Herefords (beef cattle) and an Arabian horse named Misty. We had one milk cow, a Guernsey named Betsy, that dad milked by hand every day; my mom took care of the laying hens and the hundred or so pullets; we all worked in the fields, moving up and down the rows, ridding the soil of weeds and rocks. I was driving a tractor in fourth grade. The winters were harsh and the summers were blazing. The wind always seemed to blow. 

"When the wind blew, the water was pumped [by the windmill] into an old wooden barrel down on the ground. The barrel was always coated with green mossy stuff. I'll never forget the way it smelled, or what my face looked like in the water." (me) 

Our "modern" barn, built in 1933

We didn't have a windmill on our farm when I was a kid, but the well pump did feed water into an old wooden tank on the ground that was always coated with green mossy stuff, and I can still remember how it smelled and what my face looked like in the water. It held water not for us, but for the livestock. 


"Everyone down to the cellar!" (Brittany) 

Our farmhouse doesn't have a basement, it has a cellar, which is one room under the dining room and part of the kitchen, accessed by a trap door on the porch. I remember crouching down there a few times when tornadoes were in the area. 

The Kreshka Family, c. 1945

"This will be number twelve for Caleb and me, and I'm nearly thirty-five years old!" (me) 

In one scene, I play a 34-year-old woman who grieves her situation when she finds herself pregnant with her twelfth child. She goes to the doctor, who is of no help. Out of concern for the well-being of her family, not to mention fearing injury or death during childbirth, her sister helps her find a "recipe that will relieve her of her problem." My great-grandmother, who had 13 children, also confronted such a situation. Coincidentally, I am 34 years old.

"No, I never married. Once I almost did, but it didn't work out. I was 27 years old." (me)

I was 27 when I got married, and it didn't work out. (Also, the name of this character is Katherine, which was my grandmother's name.)

"I am holding a piecing party at my home on the first Saturday of next month to celebrate the occasion of my son Jamie's twenty-first birthday."(me) 

Jamie is, of course, the name of my ex-husband. 

Yellow Medicine Lutheran Church

"These quilts is from the ladies of the First Lutheran Church!" (me) 

I grew up and was confirmed in the Lutheran church. 

"When you bury me, don't bury me in my best quilt." (Jackie) 

During this part of the play, my fellow daughters and I are pallbearers on either side of a long bier that holds the 8-foot quilt that is raised at the end. Unbeknownst to Tom, my position on the bier is the same position I had on the casket when I was a pallbearer at my grandmother's funeral last summer. 

"Twenty-five years to make a comfort that is longer lasting than a life... Sarah the child and child-bearer; the wife and woman I was taken for. The stitches tell of all these and many Sarahs more." (Jackie/all) 

The etymology of the word, "quilt," is from Old French, cuilte which stems from the Latin, culcita, meaning mattress or cushion. It is interesting to me that the meaning of the word has switched from cushion to cover; yet, both are meant to bring comfort. Even though most of the women in my family were more disposed to knitting, crocheting and embroidering than quilting, the time and care involved in each stitch was just as heartfelt and meaningful, with the recipient's comfort being the ultimate goal. Did my grandmother realize she was stitching her legacy nearly twenty-five years ago when she knitted the comforter for my bed? Maybe she did.

To my Quilters sisters and friends, thank you for a memorable journey through the frontier. It was a pleasure expressing the "pieces of women's lives" through story and song over the last seven weeks. 

Love and laughter to you all!

Raising of the Legacy Quilt, final scene of Quilters

 

Why Jesus Is Just Alright with me.

The Doobie Brothers

I always found it interesting that the otherwise secular band, The Doobie Brothers covered that gospel song. I liked (and still like) the tune a lot and wonder if they got flack for recording it. But it hit #35 on the Billboard Hot 100 back in 1972, which leads me to believe the flack was minimal.

All this is to say, appearances aren't always what they seem. While I think the Easter Bunny is cute and I love Cadbury Creme Eggs arguably more than 90% of people I know, it might come as a surprise to some that I'm a Jesus girl. While I don't necessarily shout it from the rooftops, I don't hide my light under a bushel either.

I'm not going to spend a lot of time on a soapbox here. But it is Easter, or Resurrection Sunday, or whatever you choose to call it. Christmas typically steals the Christian calendar spotlight, but really, Easter is the reason those of us Jesus-people call ourselves "Christians."

Jesus -- the Greekified name for the Hebrew Yeshua, or as we more commonly know it, Joshua -- is a complex, fascinating and seemingly contradictory guy. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you." (John 14:27) "I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." (Matthew 10:34)

Whaaa? Well, which is it?! ......Both?

Orthodox lithograph

Following the teachings of Jesus can be challenging and I'm confused by these contradictions as much as the next girl. And as hard as I try to figure out the meaning of these and other passages, using context and intent and historic relevance, it is somewhat of a relief knowing I don't have to figure it all out to know what, for me as a Christian, I believe to be the ultimate truth: that Jesus is the Son of God, who died to pay for the shortcomings of all humanity, and overcame death so we could have life. Easter in a nutshell.

Our world is full of contradictions. So is my life for that matter. I'm a "sinner" if there ever was one. I screw up (yes, sometimes willingly) on a daily basis. But in my heart of hearts, I want to be a better person. I know I'll never get there, but thankfully, that's where Jesus comes in.

And that's why He's still alright with me.

Happy Easter!

Vertigo

I wish this were a blog post about the classic Hitchcock movie with the cool poster.

I woke up yesterday with the room spinning. I thought, "Hm, that's weird. Maybe I'm still groggy." I got out of bed and proceeded to quickly fall back down on it. "What the heck is happening?"

Oh, vertigo.

The best way to describe it is like having "the spins" after drinking too much. Only without the drinking part.

Unfortunately, the web has a ton to say about the possible causes of vertigo, including Meniere disease (hearing loss), acoustic neuroma (tumor and hearing loss), cerebellar hemorrhage (brain bleeding), Multiple Sclerosis, etc.

But there are also the less serious inner-ear-infection-induced vertigo, migraine-induced vertigo, and Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (BPPV). Although not verified by a doctor, I'm pretty sure I have the last variety.

So news to me, there are tiny calcium carbonate crystals (otoconia) that hang out in the inner ear and usually dissolve naturally. But when just one of these crystals decides to take a field trip into the semi-circular canals, it pushes on tiny hairs lining the canal. The hairs act as sensors, giving the brain information about balance. Vertigo happens when the rolling crystal stimulates the hairs.

Treatment?

This:

Apparently this particle repositioning technique (which I tried yesterday) gets rid of the vertigo on the first try about 85% of the time. I am in remaining 15% because I still have it today -- although not as bad. I guess the little crystal has a little further to travel, so I'll try it again tonight. If BPPV isn't the culprit, well...... then it's back to the drawing board.

Meantime, If you'd like to join me in the vertigo experience for a second, just stare at this painting entitled "Blaze" by one of my favorite artists, Bridget Riley. (You can thank me later.)

I did it! (Mostly.)

I didn't eat McDonald's for an entire year. (That was one of my 2010 resolutions.)

I also.... 

• Wrote a short story. No, you may not read it. Well, maybe if you ask nicely. 
  
• Created two non-snowflake glass pieces. The goal was three... but maybe I can count the poppies project that I STARTED in 2010 (and hope to finish this week).
  
• Created two pencil drawings. Goal was two. Woo-hoo! Ironically, both were of doggies. And, I started a third drawing in Dec., which I also hope to finish in the short-term. (Non-dog.)
  
• Created one charcoal drawing. Goal was two. Boo. It is a birthday gift for someone so I won't post a pic until the recipient has received it. I used a lot of charcoal though, so maybe it can count as two? Ok fine.
  
• And, I had a goal of writing three songs. I didn't write any. Triple boo! However, I did write my own harp parts for two songs in Smoke on the Mountain Homecoming. Does that count??

All-in-all, I'm pretty satisfied with my progress toward my 2010 resolutions. How did you do?

Childhood illness

A coworker's 13-year-old child was recently diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. This discovery will change the child's life, as well as the family's, for the foreseeable future.

Learning about this caused me to reflect on my own experience at that age; one that I haven't shared with many people, for no other reason than its impact on my life has drastically diminished since I reached adulthood. But perhaps that in itself can be reassuring to my coworker and her kid -- that after awhile, it just becomes a part of life that you don't even think about.

I'm sure everyone remembers the annual or semi-annual elementary school health screenings. Vision, hearing, lice (ew), scoliosis. Not sure what they're screening for these days. But no doubt everyone remembers "that kid" who had to be pulled out of the classroom a day or two later by the school nurse for re-screening.

7th grade. I had pink glasses then too.

Having to get re-screened for vision wasn't a big deal. In fact, it was kinda cool to get glasses. At least, I thought so. I got lots of compliments on pink squarish plastic frames that were very stylish in fourth grade. Even my bus driver noticed.

But getting pulled out of class for re-screening of anything else was horrifying. I remember we all got kind of tense and uneasy when the school nurse popped her head in the door. "Whose name is she going to call? Please don't let it be me! Please
don't let it be me!"

"I need to see Emily Cole, please."

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! 

The stares, the whispers (mostly, I suspect, from my fellow classmates vocalizing how happy they were it wasn't them), the teacher restoring order.

That time, I had to be called back for a scoliosis re-screening. And, oh, I had it alright. Big and bad. After the visit to our family doctor, I was referred to a spinal specialist in Minneapolis. I was 10.

Being a kid and getting diagnosed with a chronic disease is awful. Granted, mine wasn't life-threatening. But it did mean some changes were coming my way. And when you're a kid, it is earth-shaking. The most resounding question in my 10-year-old head was,"WHY ME?!"

Not my x-ray, but mine is similar.

Turns out I have double-primary idiopathic scoliosis. In layman's terms: two curves in my spine, which looks like a big S. Looking at me, you probably wouldn't know anything was wrong. But upon closer inspection, you might notice that one shoulder is higher than the other, one pants leg hangs lower than the other and that I tend to stand with all my weight on one foot.

This "hidden" disease was the cause for multiple trips to Minneapolis to the spine specialist. I missed school. Was questioned by classmates. And worst of all, I was terrified that I would need to wear a brace. Think Joan Cusack in Sixteen Candles. The ultimate humiliation.

For awhile, it looked like I wasn't going to need "treatment." My spine was border-line. Each visit to the specialist necessitated x-rays, upon which Dr. Lonstein (who had a fabulous British accent) would draw, using a slide rule and protractor, to determine the severity of the curves and whether they had worsened.

A couple years passed and my spine stayed just inside the safe zone. Until I hit a growth spurt. Then the curves went crazy. "Well, I'm afraid we need to talk about treatment." I was 13. Junior High, where it's torture just trying to act normal enough to fit in and make it through unscathed.

I saw my future flash before my eyes. I was already kind of a nerd. I liked to read and play the flute and paint my nails different colors. And now I was going to have to wear an obnoxious, uncomfortable brace for 23 out of 24 hours each day until I stopped growing. Any shred of social acceptance I had earned for myself would surely be dashed the day I returned to school.

But ---- what's this? There's an alternative to a brace? A new experimental technology called Electro Spinal Orthosis, or ESO for short? And this meant no brace??? SIGN ME UP!

Like this, but on the right side only

And, seeing me on the verge of tears at the idea of wearing a brace, my parents did sign me up. An ESO was basically an electrode muscle contractor. Yes, not unlike those silly "workout your abs without doing a single sit-up" contraptions. Two electrodes were positioned on my back and would contract the muscles at intervals, essentially pushing my spine over and, in theory, preventing the curves from worsening. Since most adolescent growing happens during sleep, the thought was that the muscle contractions / spinal correction would also be most effective during sleep.

So, each night, my mom would slap the electrodes on my back, which had long wires that connected to a control box that I would then turn on and attach to the side of my bed. And my back muscles would contract all night long. Every night. For 1,095 days (give or take).

I was allowed to skip a night here and there, for the occasional sleepover. But otherwise, the electrodes accompanied me on family vacations, to long weekends at relatives', everywhere.

I experienced several fitful and sleepless nights at first. And I think I can speak for my mom when I say it took her awhile to get the hang of positioning and attaching the electrodes every night. But eventually, I got used to it and what started out as an ordeal became a 5 minute addition to my sleeping and waking routines.

Physical effects of scoliosis

For me, the treatment was successful. I think the curves maybe worsened a degree or two during that time, but it was considered acceptable. However, ESO was discontinued as a treatment option shortly after I stopped using it. The research had determined that users experienced mixed results and it was not a reliable method of treatment. I'm just glad it worked for me.

As an adult, I suffer from periodic neck, lower back and hip issues, for which I see a chiropractor. I do a lot of back stretches, which have become second nature. I still have a hard time wearing certain styles of dresses, and my pants will never be even at the cuff, which is frustrating. But, all in all, I consider myself pretty healthy.

My "illness" didn't scar me for life. But I do think it gave me a perspective that I wouldn't have had otherwise. And while each person's situation is different and each experience is unique, it is my hope that the similarities can be reassuring in the end. All we can do is experience it, learn from it, live our lives and in the process, try to help others do the same.