tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42874053766965114782024-03-05T00:13:47.212-08:00Cyndi Monroe - UnscriptedMusings from an unrehearsed lifeCyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-3876715295969291552013-08-04T18:07:00.000-07:002013-08-05T05:43:40.965-07:00The Blessing of a Girl<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJc6hcj4jqA4wr45hNSj45NGFK5UVkgIe3imZTzLoqkJGVWiqJlB0jYB7COmy9W-SYoF-nAhi9ZrQCXuJCQFcAhvsFHpRjvf3rnQt-BJ8HIwmXql7gPGxpSkPJyinK1XLjDsrv71riMI/s1600/We+are+having+a+girl!+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJc6hcj4jqA4wr45hNSj45NGFK5UVkgIe3imZTzLoqkJGVWiqJlB0jYB7COmy9W-SYoF-nAhi9ZrQCXuJCQFcAhvsFHpRjvf3rnQt-BJ8HIwmXql7gPGxpSkPJyinK1XLjDsrv71riMI/s400/We+are+having+a+girl!+030.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We just learned that our next
grandchild, our second grandchild, is going to be a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now,
that shouldn’t be an earth shattering surprise because there was literally a
50/50 chance that we could have a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>BUT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We Monroes are known for our
boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have four sons and one
grandson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A girl seemed a bit of a
stretch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The discovery and the
celebration were enormous and wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Daniel and Erin, our son and daughter-in-law, came over with a box of
adorable cupcakes decorated with Pink and Blue question marks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all made our guesses by picking the color
we thought would be correct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mark and I
both picked blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was only
natural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isaac, our youngest son, picked
pink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I honestly didn’t think we could
have a girl.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzzkVOZDVUy81gfzZEjP-9HYN4P8o1Tp8cwX_1WfePZtkNqhX4Ewe6YlFwQJcEGxdY11NlUKI8ELopoTVWvOuixCL7g_62d0A8ebc5UBDaVNhC2vSs6bgyaViDDxEOac5vhW3xhW9bIk/s1600/We+are+having+a+girl!+025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzzkVOZDVUy81gfzZEjP-9HYN4P8o1Tp8cwX_1WfePZtkNqhX4Ewe6YlFwQJcEGxdY11NlUKI8ELopoTVWvOuixCL7g_62d0A8ebc5UBDaVNhC2vSs6bgyaViDDxEOac5vhW3xhW9bIk/s320/We+are+having+a+girl!+025.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Then we all bit into the cupcakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A creamy pink center was revealed and
pandemonium broke out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed, I
cried, we hugged, I exclaimed disbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We looked at the revealing sonogram pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was glorious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A BABY GIRL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Could there anything more wonderful to anticipate, dream about and plan
for?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Pink frothy dresses, those head band
things that make your baby look like her brain is being abnormally squeezed,
ruffled socks, Hello Kitty Pajamas, the list is endless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We could NOT be more excited or feel
more blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re getting a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her name is Brooklyn Grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will be welcomed by people who will
love and adore her, her whole life long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Then, less than an hour after the
momentous announcement, I went to a meeting at my church where a Jordanian
woman, Randa Khlaif, was to speak about her ministry to abused and broken
women.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It was a devastating hour and a half
reality check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Randa told story after
story, shared fact after fact about the life for women who live in the Muslim
world of North Africa and the Middle East: How the Koran teaches that women
have just ½ the brain of men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How women
have literally no value or worth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How they
have no hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women are routinely beaten
daily for every possible reason: The power goes out – it’s her fault and she is
beaten, if the rice is dry or the coffee cold, she is beaten. The women are
raped by their fathers, their siblings, their husbands and even their own sons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If a woman or young girl becomes pregnant by
these rapes she is either thrown into jail or killed by her family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she is thrown into jail, the minute the
child is delivered, it is taken to an orphanage and the girl is returned to her
family for the nightmare to begin again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The babies are placed in orphanages where they are kept until they
die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adoption is against the law. Randa
said there are 10’s of 1,000’s of unwanted babies wasting away with no hope of
every being with a loving family.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijiDROzH3lC5Qy67TiDDyEyv6tspGOKWBcRyxp35iJVtLXX_QX2v6Cns5S974qQQcY281ma1JUiZePPWEOXpmkuOF_wGOmmQldN3OABFt7JflbmIcGn7ScMLWQ7SlqcSBStF3dfSwI4Bo/s1600/middle+eastern+woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijiDROzH3lC5Qy67TiDDyEyv6tspGOKWBcRyxp35iJVtLXX_QX2v6Cns5S974qQQcY281ma1JUiZePPWEOXpmkuOF_wGOmmQldN3OABFt7JflbmIcGn7ScMLWQ7SlqcSBStF3dfSwI4Bo/s320/middle+eastern+woman.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">One story that I cannot get out of my
head is about a young wife and mother of 2 two darling little girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This woman’s husband converted from Islam to
Christianity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Less than 1% of Jordanians
are evangelical Christians because it is against the law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This woman’s family was so angry that they
demanded that she divorce her husband and come back to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She refused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her father kidnapped her and her daughters and threatened to kill her
husband.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Then this father...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This father took his daughter, sliced her
throat with a knife, chopped her up into small pieces and left her body lying
in his doorway so that people had to step over her to come into his house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The husband fled to another country but he is
still trying to get his children back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Randa had to pause many times as her tears got the better of her.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">She said that now, because of the war in
Syria, 1,000’s and 1,000s of Syrian women and children have crossed into Jordan
and Randa’s group are trying to help them too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Randa said that many of them have only the clothes on their backs – they
left homes and husbands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with all the
loss, even with having NOTHING, they say that life is better for them because
they are not being beaten and raped.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">This is the life of millions and
millions of women and girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My heart broke over the truth of such
evilness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I think about Brooklyn Grace and I am
overwhelmed with the thankfulness that I was born here, in America, where girls
are loved and valued.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And I am overwhelmed with the pathetic helplessness
of not knowing what to do for those women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Randa Khlaif asked us to pray. “Who will pray for Fatima”? She asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woman raised her hand and said, “I will”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good”, Randa replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There are well over a million women named
Fatima in the region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pray for Fatima and
you are praying for a million women and one day when you meet a woman named
Fatima, you can tell her you have been praying for <u>HER</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who will pray for Hanan or Shaida or….?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">If you have a daughter or granddaughter,
love her especially well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do not forget
that purely by God’s grace, she was born HERE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And pray for the women who were not so fortunate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who need hope and help and love and
compassion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those are gifts God bestows
freely but they need to hear about this love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So share and help and support people like Randa Khlaif and her husband,
Kamal. This link will enable you to give to them directly through their
sponsor, Campus Crusade for Christ: <span style="color: #17375e; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #17375E; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=75000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Give.cur.org/2399060</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I cannot wait until December when
Brooklyn Grace will make her appearance. I will snuggle her sweet pinkness,
kiss her toes and head, sing soft lullabies to her and never forget that she is
a gift beyond all measure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">8/4/13</span></div>
Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-43538151382508125832013-01-30T17:37:00.000-08:002013-01-30T18:04:52.027-08:00It's Tough Being the Dad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_YFhWWrl4bJOJ3p_5Voo_25J2LYxaH7dGVaKtom5QiShsEL1x9e83iyET0tiaPX1T9vK48gPZNUDVNNr7U5MKxdoaen2xAlnRh-PPINShcxztps6_ny1wN-9DK7jazheo2L0ZOEqXjPg/s1600/Young+Bob+Jones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_YFhWWrl4bJOJ3p_5Voo_25J2LYxaH7dGVaKtom5QiShsEL1x9e83iyET0tiaPX1T9vK48gPZNUDVNNr7U5MKxdoaen2xAlnRh-PPINShcxztps6_ny1wN-9DK7jazheo2L0ZOEqXjPg/s320/Young+Bob+Jones.jpg" width="213" /></a>My 87 year old dad called me this morning. He wanted to chat. Just catch up. We hadn't chatted in about 24 hours and he had stuff to talk about. He had read my 2 most recent blogs and he wanted to talk about them and other things. We talked for about 20 minutes. He asked good questions, pondered what I said, offered his opinion and a bit of advice. And although my day isn't over and its been pretty good so far, I can guarantee those were the best 20 minutes of my day.<br />
<br />
It was after that conversation that I started thinking about my dad in days gone by. There was a common refrain around my house when I was a teenager that came from my dad. He would sigh. We would wait for it. Then here came the refrain: "It's tough being the dad."<br />
<br />
Maybe I needed the car or some cash. Maybe my brother backed the car into a lamppost and knocked it over. Maybe he would be the punchline of a joke we all thought was hilarious. Honestly, it could be a whole host of things. Usually it was anything that caused Dad to be backed into a proverbial corner. A lot of times it was when my dad was the very last person to find out about something. Then, once the facts of whatever the issue or problem were uncovered and sorted out to the best of his ability, my dad would look at my brother, mother and I and say it again (with appropriate sigh), "Its tough being the dad."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAYziEgqHRaEtvZ0Aj4D6-_6sh4ZofR-EymT9kC5C5CqdNthQt7StI-WRUL-6zFBzhZ0c7PeDshKU0V1wTbVkjoPyV2NmdcdI9EngbLYtLBxxgBbxPVtLd-tTJU7_ATFIWZbuEJ6AH7Q/s1600/lamp+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAYziEgqHRaEtvZ0Aj4D6-_6sh4ZofR-EymT9kC5C5CqdNthQt7StI-WRUL-6zFBzhZ0c7PeDshKU0V1wTbVkjoPyV2NmdcdI9EngbLYtLBxxgBbxPVtLd-tTJU7_ATFIWZbuEJ6AH7Q/s200/lamp+post.jpg" width="200" /></a> He wasn't mad. My dad rarely got mad at Andy and me (well, he was kind of mad over the knocked over lamp post incident). I think he just wanted us to know he was a real person who had real feelings - not an ATM machine (although there weren't <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> ATM machines yet) or a valet who simply doled out the car keys to us at will.<br />
<br />
Yep, Old Bob Jones is a great dad. I think every other man in their 80's is named "Bob". My father-in-law is Bob and my sister-in-law's dad was Bob, my daughter-in-law's dad is Bob (although he is <i>not</i> in his 80's). When my son, Andrew, was a little boy, he thought that once you became a Grandpa your name was automatically changed to "Bob". Really. But I digress.<br />
<br />
There are so many things about my dad that I think are worthy of comment. When I was a kid we ALWAYS had breakfast together as a whole family. The four of us sitting around the table just like we would 11 hours later for dinner. OJ, Coco Puffs or Cheerios and toast one day; grape juice, a "penny" egg* and toast the next (*A hardboiled egg put through an egg slicer, then laid out like golden coins on my plate). After we were finished eating we would sit while my dad read from the Bible and the little 5 minute devotional, <i>Our Daily Bread</i>. We never left the table without it.<br />
<br />
On Saturday mornings my dad made raisin pancakes for all of us before he left to go golfing with his buddies.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCuCbjmMfeOxVA199ckCH1LYQZiS5e4-DJA_DtVnxYZy43Ddv3p9FXrGNz0308FslzpjhWHL6WAfrpHh2_-g26h_lSOdrCAU0M1Jrh218zmuiihZtyG1w1Bs2uupLzYyIKJyJSMTEctYM/s1600/GRAMMIES+CAMERA+10+26+11+181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCuCbjmMfeOxVA199ckCH1LYQZiS5e4-DJA_DtVnxYZy43Ddv3p9FXrGNz0308FslzpjhWHL6WAfrpHh2_-g26h_lSOdrCAU0M1Jrh218zmuiihZtyG1w1Bs2uupLzYyIKJyJSMTEctYM/s320/GRAMMIES+CAMERA+10+26+11+181.JPG" width="96" /></a>On Saturday afternoons (after golf) he would make sourdough bread by hand using the yeast starter we had growing in our refrigerator. My mom would use that bread to make our lunches every day at school. I LONGED for white Wonder bread like all my girlfriends. I was an idiot. And how many of you had dads who made bread, by hand, every week?<br />
<br />
My dad would challenge my brother to running races and there they would go across the yard. I don't remember the first time Andy actually beat my dad but I bet it was high school or later. My dad was fast.<br />
<br />
My dad has a crazy sense of humor and likes to wear silly hats whenever it's called for. He is such a good sport.<br />
<br />
When I was a senior in high school I wasn't asked to the Prom. That night, when all my friends were dressing up, receiving nervous boys at the door with corsages and heading out to what I knew absolutely would be the best night of their lives, my dad came to me and invited me to go on a "date"with him. He took me to Bob's Big Boy for dinner and then we went to see the Vaudeville Show at the Birdcage Theater at Knott's Berry Farm. In those days, Knott's wasn't enclosed and you could wander around to your heart's content. The tickets to the theater were probably all of 50 cents. It was an unforgettable night for me: much better than any prom (and less expensive too).<br />
<br />
Dad has walked through my many trials and triumphs with me. He adores all his grandchildren (6!) and his great-grandchildren (4!). He is passionately interested in the lives of my boys and asks about each one in great detail. When I have an seemingly insurmountable problem or challenge, he lets me blather on about it forever then he will respond. Sometimes with sage advice or practical solutions, sometimes with just a listening ear but always with prayer. I know my dad and my mom have prayed for me and my family every single day of my life.<br />
<br />
My dad and mom moved to Corona in the spring of 2010 after living outside of California for over 30 years. They are just five miles down the road, which I love. My dad's health has been a terrible challenge for him and my mom these past 2 years. Too many trips to the hospital. Too many sleepless nights due to a chronic and mysterious cough. He's a trooper and a feisty old bird but every once in a while he looks at me and says, "Getting old stinks" Yes, it does. <br />
<br />
Like many, many millions before me, I wish, back when I was teenager,I had had the perspective I have now about the incredible value my dad brings to my life . <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWg9fmTbgZbq2Y5M4w1iwRPouYYR9_Nk93T1mRkVUXGswapXybQBKiFRLh3tEgD69lh8spv301ZRotW4CozHNaZ5m7fm7O2GyOrkBWfcrfi1luzqAC8IRwv1V5CtVyueNR8SnFGwnYPj0/s1600/IMG_1937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWg9fmTbgZbq2Y5M4w1iwRPouYYR9_Nk93T1mRkVUXGswapXybQBKiFRLh3tEgD69lh8spv301ZRotW4CozHNaZ5m7fm7O2GyOrkBWfcrfi1luzqAC8IRwv1V5CtVyueNR8SnFGwnYPj0/s320/IMG_1937.JPG" width="234" /></a></div>
Thanks, Dad, for sticking with us. Even when it was tough being the dad. I love you.<br />
<br />
<br />Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-47935258286819181582013-01-26T16:13:00.000-08:002013-01-28T11:39:28.620-08:00May I Grant You My Friendship? I have been a part of casting dozens of shows at CAT, my theater company. And most everyone who has auditioned for me knows what I say when you <i>don't</i> get cast in the show or don't get the part you were hoping for (Say it with me): "There's always another show". Hope springs eternal at CAT because there really is always another show to set your sights on should things not go as you had hoped in the current one.<br />
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That leads to me an almost entirely different subject but I promise the segue will almost work if I can explain myself. I must be honest, I've started off badly but here goes.<br />
<br />
Ever since I was a young girl I have wanted to visit England. I love the geography - such a beautiful place from the beaches to the forests. I love the history - all bashing and bloody and awful while trying to be proper: There's just something comically genius about that. I love the architecture: Those castles and estates...oh my! I love the literature: Dickens, Austen, Lewis, Bronte X 3, Hardy, Tolkien... oh for goodness sakes, Shakespeare. The mystery and whimsy, the hominess and quaintness. I am enamored. Always been.<br />
<br />
And, in thinking about actually ever going, I find myself wistfully dismissing the idea of going as a mere tourist. Standing next to the guard at Buckingham Palace, walking through the tourist stalls of Piccadilly Square, taking pictures of Big Ben, constantly consulting the AAA Tourist's Guide to London. No, in my dreams (and since it's my dream, I can imagine it anyway I want), I am experiencing England <i>with</i> the English - outside of the hustle and bustle of London. I'm in York or Bath or Sussex in a village pub or tea room. Such a great imaginary trip.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdkoWY12obtR6lsedhqUvm7TdWHaFTBX0eA2X-k07sKysyAY-Kp7lqbKSpa3CJkNSXLW9_YE9B-v9fVlpU7-RjgT24efRma96RRVCcg1GuHPpRvGo-XOWU4Jz9-bWXNr_rlMOQooRdOc/s1600/rural-england+farmers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdkoWY12obtR6lsedhqUvm7TdWHaFTBX0eA2X-k07sKysyAY-Kp7lqbKSpa3CJkNSXLW9_YE9B-v9fVlpU7-RjgT24efRma96RRVCcg1GuHPpRvGo-XOWU4Jz9-bWXNr_rlMOQooRdOc/s320/rural-england+farmers.jpg" width="320" /></a>Now picture with me my incredible surprise when I discover that the international service organization of which I am a member, Soroptimist International, has a group of clubs in Southern England and they are sponsoring a "Friendship Grant" to come visit their 13 clubs over a 2 week period this June. I saw it as a personal invitation to ME. Oh sure, it was open to anyone around the globe to apply but I knew (and I thought GOD knew) that this was a grant meant for me alone. This was my dream trip. More than that. This was my destiny.<br />
<br />
I worked on my grant like it meant life or death. With unbelievable care and attention, I answered each question. I was detailed. I was amusing. I was thoroughly engaging. I added illustrations. I had delightful anecdotes. I was eloquent. It was, in short, The Masterpiece of Grants.<br />
<br />
Since I've been out of the country .. like never.... I rushed out and got my passport. Boy, that made it seem real. I am going to England in June.<br />
<br />
After re-reading my grant what seemed like 6,000 times, I was absolutely convinced I could not improve on it one iota. Every word was perfect. I emailed it to the proper recipient. Rita. I sent it to Rita in proper PDF format. That was September 17, 2012.<br />
<br />
Other than my immediate family and 4 very close friends, I didn't tell anyone about it. It was my delicious secret. I wanted my award to be a surprise. Close of applications for the grant was December 18. I practically marked off on my office wall, like some soon to be paroled convict, the days until December 18th.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, what a glorious time I had planning my trip. Searching for stylish but comfortable walking shoes. Arranging to make an incredible video about our Soroptimist International of Corona Club (I'm the president this year) to share with the ladies in England. Thinking about losing 30 pounds (let's not get crazy - I was just thinking about it). <br />
<br />
December 18th arrived and I didn't hear anything. "Ooohhh", I said, " December 18th was the close of applications - not the Announcement of Winner Day". There was no posted "Announcement of Winner" day but I calculated that, with it being Christmas and all, there would probably not be anything said until after the holidays.<br />
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Ughhhh. More waiting, Waiting is hard. Its hard on kids waiting for Christmas to come. Its hard waiting for a baby to decide to be born. Waiting is just plain hard. Waiting to hear those 8 magic words: "You are the winner of the Friendship Grant" was agony. I thought my head was going to explode with the waiting. So I broke my own cardinal rule of waiting and wrote to Rita on January 6th and asked if the decision for the grant recipient was still pending. I wanted to say, "Come on, Rita, you know I'm your girl. Please put me out of my misery and tell me I'm the winner". I was much more cagey, more illusive. I'm sure she saw right through me<br />
<br />
When I saw the very next day that she had written me back, I couldn't bear to open the email. I was both ecstatic and scared to death. I didn't want to read that they had already picked someone named Sally "Most Fantastic Applicant in the History of Friendship Grants" Anderson of Nashville, TN or Greta " I can embroider 'God save the Queen' on the head of a pin" Svenson of Stockholm, Sweden. I wanted her to say, "Why Yes, Cyndi Monroe of Corona, CA, we have Chosen YOU!" Eventually my curiosity won out and I opened the email. It read, "No, we have not chosen the winner. We, the governors, are meeting January 19th and on January 20th I will email the applicants to let them know".<br />
<br />
I exhaled enough to fill a large hot air balloon. 2 more weeks, though. <u>More</u> agonizing waiting but at least I had a defined end date. January 19th arrived. I was feverish with excitement. This was it. I practically checked my email 100 times during the day. Even though Rita said she would email the applicants on the 20th, I knew that there's a significant time difference. On the 20th I got up and checked my email at 2:00 AM, 4:00 AM, 7:00 AM and then throughout the rest of the day. Nothing.<br />
<br />
It's a week later. I have checked my emails 10,000 times. I never heard a word. I did not receive the grant. I am not going to England in June (I am writing this down for <i>my</i> benefit not yours, dear Reader). How could they not want me? I'm so nice when you get to know me. I was the exact right person for this adventure. I know I was. Except I wasn't. I don't know why.<br />
<br />
I am not mad. I was never promised anything except the opportunity to apply. Rita is probably the nicest woman on the planet and those English ladies knew better than me who would be right for their needs. Dang! (I wanted very badly to use a different word here).<br />
<br />
Which brings me back full circle to my opening paragraph.<br />
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See, this is how kids feel when they don't get cast in a show (although I want to magnify that emotion about 1,000%). They feel like we didn't want them. They feel like we don't want to be their friend. Its not true. They just weren't right for this show. I wasn't right for this Friendship Grant. All the whining and wishing in the world won't change that.<br />
<br />
So what have I learned from this whole lesson:<br />
1. Life isn't fair<br />
2. You already knew that<br />
3. Get over it<br />
4. Plan a new adventure and work just as hard to achieve it as you did writing this grant<br />
5. God absolutely has something better planned for you.<br />
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You know what else I always tell the kids and their parents if they don't make it in a show? I tell them to go out for ice cream. They will forget all about their disappointment. What great advice. I'm grabbin' my keys and heading for Farrell's. <br />
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<br />Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-13028131833620231352013-01-24T18:05:00.002-08:002013-01-24T18:16:21.917-08:00My Alternate UniverseIt feels like I have been away a long, long time. It feels like that because it is true. I haven't stopped writing. I have done an amazing amount of writing actually.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nRg4m2jqWFncd5HE1lZoW2kROQmIfc-OlGaxzayqQ1BSADIeQtGnnl6tOAy0kqO6yteYwBKF9x5Jr8C9AKg2XLLmcecdjw5ytYJcsp5RUp6srqxLpBFHFFGqTkSkymGIJEMixh8dx28/s1600/babies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nRg4m2jqWFncd5HE1lZoW2kROQmIfc-OlGaxzayqQ1BSADIeQtGnnl6tOAy0kqO6yteYwBKF9x5Jr8C9AKg2XLLmcecdjw5ytYJcsp5RUp6srqxLpBFHFFGqTkSkymGIJEMixh8dx28/s400/babies.jpg" width="400" /></a>I stopped writing my blog because it was too hard to be consistently honest. Or maybe a better way of saying it is that I worried all the time about offending someone, everyone. I have these very strongly held opinions. Sometimes I have a tendency to express them without wrapping them in grace first. I am a mess without grace. I can look into a mirror and hate what I see. And yes, I have a persona that I think I have to maintain all the time...except when I am standing in front of said mirror. But my resolution this year was to try and glorify God every single day. In my life, in my words, in my actions. Be intentional. Its January 24th and I am finding my way.<br />
<br />
So here I go. Wading in to the controversy of the day. The controversy of the last 40 years. Watching America become this unrecognizable place and yet we shrug our shoulders (for the most part) and say "Live and Let Live" and yet, isn't that the whole point? We don't "Let Live" in America. It amazes me what we can't do in America. How we've allowed ourselves to be backed into a corner in so many areas. For example, I can't by a soda over 16 oz. in New York City. That's not a decision I can make any longer. I am apparently incapable of controlling myself when it comes to soda purchases. But guess what? I can kill my baby if I want.<br />
<br />
I can't buy decent light bulbs that actually light my rooms anymore. You know, the incandescent ones that actually turn right on and flood a room with a natural warmth. But I can kill my baby. In San Fransicsco I can't get plastic bags to carry my groceries but I can kill my baby. In Concord, Mass I will be fined $50 for buying/using a personal water bottle like my Crystal Geyser or Arrowhead water. Personal water bottles are BANNED, Baby! But, speaking of Baby. I can still kill mine if I want. I cannot say a prayer in school or place a memorial cross on a hill top but I can kill my baby.<br />
<br />
I have to get a license to hunt and kill a deer in most states. But <i>just one</i> and no does - just the bucks. But I can kill as many of my babies as I want. Really. There is NO LIMIT on how many babies of mine I can kill. I read about a girl in New York who had killed 13 of her own babies. I bet that's not even close to the record. <br />
<br />
It feels like I am writing a Twilight Zone script except its true. 40 years of Roe V Wade has produced the death of over 55 million American children. We as a nation wept for those 20 darling children in Newtown, Connecticut. The horror of that day: Seeing innocent children murdered through absolutely no fault of their own. 20 precious lives. Lives cut short before they blossomed into the fully grown people they were meant to be. Where, then, is the anger, horror, anguish and sorrow over the 55 million children who were and still are being killed through no fault of their own?<br />
<br />
55 million. If you killed every single person alive today in New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts and Ohio combined you'd have about 55 million deaths. Unfathomable. Imagine who we've lost. The next great minds of science and medicine. The next extrordinary painters and writers. The athletes and muscians. The parents and grandparents of our future generations. Extraordinary, really.<br />
<br />
And there is no main stream outcry. In an editorial published today in Salon Magazine, "So What if Abortion Ends Life?" by a woman named Mary Elizabeth Williams, she is honest enough to state that she knows (believes) life begins at conception but doesn't care. She wants women to still "be the boss" (and states the unbelievable statistic that ONE in THREE American women will, in their life time, have an abortion. One in Three???). She writes that an aborted fetus is "a life worth sacrificing" if the mother finds that child inconvenient or what ever other reasons a woman has for aborting her child.<br />
<br />
I hate to think how we will be judged by the Giver of all life. Now this is the part about the goodness of grace. The part that reminds me and everyone else that God has lavished us with love and grace. We can literally swim in that unending grace. We are loved and forgiven through the blood of our Savior Jesus Christ. I do not know any of my friends who had an abortion at some point in their life who are not welcome to lathered on grace. I don't, I can't judge anyone who made that decision. I am in need of grace as any human. I am truly a mess. I have done awful things. I have thought about doing even worse. I am redeemed through that grace. So this is not about pointing fingers to the past. This is about standing up and helping those who are at risk for the future. This is about seeking an alternative universe where men and women take responsibility for their choices and first do no harm. A better way of using Ms Williams own words, "Saving the life of a child is worth the sacrifice".Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-87242966263707249512011-01-31T23:00:00.000-08:002011-02-01T00:27:48.282-08:00Transformational Motherhood<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmks3lMZjVI3-TRwJm9axPQ929vvDr3hPQmqhIAydcj85wGdjgEeCDH4dI0gHbNaGMZJQZml974WgsKpWU-7ra4n01iD6VOuALnwOrYVIkjJg6wgGuwI40ZoNDQuSkRzeVi4_Kn_SrsU/s1600/clothesline.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmks3lMZjVI3-TRwJm9axPQ929vvDr3hPQmqhIAydcj85wGdjgEeCDH4dI0gHbNaGMZJQZml974WgsKpWU-7ra4n01iD6VOuALnwOrYVIkjJg6wgGuwI40ZoNDQuSkRzeVi4_Kn_SrsU/s320/clothesline.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568626545173502402" border="0" /></a><br />I am not whining. Really. This is just a sliver of truth that God helped me see this weekend. I wish sometimes I could pick how lessons are learned. I would have chosen a different path but that's just me and obviously NOT the way things need to be learned around here.<br />It all started a week ago when Mark called me out to the garage to point at the dryer. It was running - the clothes were spinning around inside it as they should. The problem was that they had been spinning in there for a good 45 minutes and when Mark opened the door the clothes were cold and still very wet.<br />My dryer is broken. Really? I mean, I literally looked upwards towards heaven and said, "Really, God? My dryer? Right now?" Mark and I are not in position to spend any money to fix the dryer right now. Then I thought about how everything belongs to God and in my momentary lapse of acceptance and understanding I actually said, "What I mean, God, is <span style="font-style: italic;">YOUR</span> dryer is broken." (Not unlike a petulant, spoiled child).<br />Well, we live in southern California and, as the Midwest and eastward are preparing for yet another cold winter blast of ice, snow and sub-zero temperatures, we are enjoying 70-something degree weather. A few minutes later, as I walked out into the back yard and felt the warmth on my face, I almost could hear the Lord responding, "No, Cyndi. my 'dryer' is working just great.<br />So there were Mark and I, draping all our laundry across stuff in the back yard, hoping it would dry before the winter sun set. I was pretty cranky about the whole thing, to be honest. When nothing really dried fully and we brought it all in and then had to drape it all over my living room and bathrooms, I got even more cranky. Lots of "sighs" and "Why me's" flitting across my lips. I believe I might have said, more than once, "I HATE this".<br />Then on this past Friday, I had a couple of extra hours in the late afternoon and I thought I would sneak off to see a movie I really, really wanted to see, <span style="font-style: italic;">The King's Speech</span>. It was by all accounts <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> kind of movie. Great acting (I love Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth), historically juicy, and what I used tell my boys about a movie I knew they wouldn't like, an English 'talkie'" movie - In other words, no car chases. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Sense and Sensibility</span>,<span style="font-style: italic;"> A Room With a View</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Babe</span> - you know, English <span style="font-style: italic;">talkie</span> movies where nothing much actually happens but you are enthralled nonetheless (if you happen to be me). [OK, <span style="font-style: italic;">Babe</span> takes place in Australia and is about a pig who thinks he's a sheepdog but it kind of fits the criteria. I mostly wanted to see if you were paying attention.]<br />Anyway, I was so looking forward to this respite in the theater. Then Isaac called from college.<br />He was coming home, could he bring his laundry? Of course! He arrived with a terrible cold, a paper to write that had to be submitted on-line by 5:00pm and 2 weeks worth of dirty clothes. Before all you perfect mothers jump up and down yelling at me about "enabling", Yes, Isaac is absolutely capable of doing his own laundry. That is not the point of this story.<br />While he sniffled and cough and sneezed his way through writing his paper, I <span style="font-weight: bold;">CHOSE</span> to help him with his laundry.<br />So there I was, draping his clothes all over the backyard and I was actually humming and smiling. Weird!<br />I was not at the movie and I knew that I wasn't going to make it to the movie that day. I was hanging socks and Levis and boxers over a temporary clothesline and I was humming. Just five days earlier I had been doing the same activity with my own laundry and I was so cranky that the dog hid under the couch. Now, I was happily humming as I battled with the rickety clothes hanging apparatus, trying to eek out maximum sun exposure.<br />I was actually startled when that awareness seeped into my brain. The very thing that had made so cranky a few days before was now an opportunity to show love to my child. Trust me, it wasn't at all like Isaac was thinking, "Wow, my mom really must love me - she's out there humming while she drapes my boxers over my workout bench".<br />It was just this tiny moment when I glimpsed behind the curtain of transformational love. I made the choice to stay home and help Isaac and I <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> happy. No movie, no matter how many Oscar nominations it received, could fill me with joy like the unexpected opportunity to spend time with an adult child who didn't <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to come home but <span style="font-style: italic;">wanted</span> to come home. That movie never stood a chance. It's how God wired us moms. And who better than God understands transformational love? He turned me from a hag to a hummer.<br />PS: I got to see <span style="font-style: italic;">The King's Speech</span> on Saturday afternoon and it was wonderful. If you are all done with your laundry (or that of a loved one), go see it.Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-82875855545862125472011-01-07T18:00:00.000-08:002011-01-07T22:52:32.310-08:00Wanting Loaves and Fishes but Getting Manna<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGeuJqTCCCH6g7MLrd1mQDtpe4Gqyvpggnv1rk5m8WqMDXqgFioxU6q8eP-1HuaiqI-_d9i3-0aBToI_Z9rOHTsus7eFEzvJnxD82MBrMnT2yIzyzAaIC96wysCy88RDxvfqKZV7Q2lWU/s1600/loaves+and+fishes.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGeuJqTCCCH6g7MLrd1mQDtpe4Gqyvpggnv1rk5m8WqMDXqgFioxU6q8eP-1HuaiqI-_d9i3-0aBToI_Z9rOHTsus7eFEzvJnxD82MBrMnT2yIzyzAaIC96wysCy88RDxvfqKZV7Q2lWU/s320/loaves+and+fishes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558936923980191282" border="0" /></a><br />I was talking to my good friend, Keith Ward, about how you simply cannot put God in a box. God is inscrutable. The dictionary says inscrutable means, "Not readily investigated, interpreted or understood." In other words, "mysterious".<br />That is a perfect description. Our God is mysterious.<br />Keith and I happened to talking about the CAT 50 Day Year End Challenge which began in late October and ran through the end of 2010. I totally thought it was an idea straight from God. We would run a fund raising campaign for 50 days with the ultimate goal of raising $50,000. It seemed doable, attainable and, if not exactly easy, certainly a worthwhile challenge. In October I imagined how it was going to feel to have not just enough funds for CAT but an abundance that would give us a strong foundation as we headed into the new year.<br />I talked about the challenge with people every day. I prayed about it every day. I blogged and e-mailed about it. I'm pretty sure people got a teensy-bit tired hearing about the challenge. I even went through the phase I call the "insurance guy" period. When I was much younger I sold life insurance for a bit. I imagined people who saw me coming would change direction to avoid me or, if I were in a store, would hide behind the clothing racks so I wouldn't ask them about their long range financial plans. I had this same sort of paranoia-like experience mid-way through the challenge. If I ran into someone I knew at the grocery store, I kind of imagined that they would swerve down an aisle at Staters they had no reason to use (Wow! What a selection of diapers here, I had no idea!") or they would suddenly take a cell call as I approached.<br />Still the Lord was in it and people were incredibly generous. From the widow who gave all she had ($5) to corporations who gave thousands, we watched with tremendous joy and exhilaration as we worked our way through the days toward the end of 2010.<br />I wanted it to be like the miracle of the 5 loaves and 2 fishes. You know the story from the Gospels. A huge crowd is following Jesus because he had been performing great miracles like healing the sick. Jesus sees that the crowd is enormous. They are out in the middle of nowhere and there's nothing for all these people to eat. He asks his disciples where they can buy bread to feed everyone (John 6:5). The ever practical Philip points out that it would take 8 months worth of wages to be able to afford to feed everyone. Peter's brother, Andrew brings up one little boy whose mom had planned ahead (of course, what a good mom!) and sent her son off with a sack lunch. "I found this boy but all he has is five little barley loaves and two fishes (the Biblical equivalent of tuna on rye, I guess). Andrew goes on to ask what difference such a small amount has against the reality of 5,000 men and their families.<br />Jesus does not answer Andrew's obvious question but instead tells the disciples to have everyone sit down. That would have been fun to watch: 12 disciples flapping their arms in the air: "Sit down, please everyone, sit down...." Then Jesus takes the loaves and fishes, prays over them and then tells the disciples to share them with all the people. Everyone got all they could possibly eat. They were stuffed. Then Jesus tells the disciples to gather all that was left over - that nothing should be wasted. According to John 6:13, they had 12 baskets of bread left over: WOW!<br />Well, honestly, that's what I wanted to have happen with the 50 Day challenge. I wanted us to end in December by not just hitting our goal of $50,000 but with baskets of abundance for the New Year. Note: That's what<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> I</span> wanted but that is not what happened.<br />What did happen was more like the story in Exodus 16 when God provided the Israelites the thin, white wafers that tasted like they were made with honey every day (except on the Sabbath Day): Manna. Exodus tells us that each day the ground was covered with manna. Exactly enough for all of the Israelites to eat. By the time the mid-day sun had heated all the ground, the manna was gone until the next day.<br />Well, just like God's manna for the Israelites, every day God cares for CAT and provides just what we need: no more. He holds us close and sustains us in a tender and wonderful way. He's been sustaining us through thick and thin for our entire 12 years.<br /><br />We received an incredible abundance of $22,174.69 from the 50-Day Challenge: Fantastic! All that wonderful generosity helped meet our obligations as the year came to a close.<br /><br />I have, I admit, been second guessing myself, though. Did I work hard enough? Did I follow up every lead? Did I clearly explain why supporting CAT is a good thing for kids and families? I don't know how to answer those questions. I did my best although I always, always think I could have done better. As I said, I thought the Challenge was God's idea. It wasn't that I thought raising $50,000 was a fore gone conclusion but.. if I faithfully did the work wouldn't God "do his part", so to speak.<br />But, you see, God is inscrutable and mysterious. As I Corinthians 2:9 says, No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him. God loves me. God loves CAT. We were faithf<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Pw03v_x8Z1WpFNKdNKPoxnQjNtQtKJ-4uOAe0oBfIOTJyRHImLtHzg1UcC5djhRX3wSqSBfwtrj-ceFlGYS9VOPe6gGVk4Z5rpu82KDy486icT4nme3-5oRBAtd5KxpVH1qMlwD1Kws/s1600/trees-mist-19.3.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Pw03v_x8Z1WpFNKdNKPoxnQjNtQtKJ-4uOAe0oBfIOTJyRHImLtHzg1UcC5djhRX3wSqSBfwtrj-ceFlGYS9VOPe6gGVk4Z5rpu82KDy486icT4nme3-5oRBAtd5KxpVH1qMlwD1Kws/s320/trees-mist-19.3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559640985820516082" border="0" /></a>ul to do his work with the challenge and in 2011 I know He is going to continue to love and sustain us. That is his nature. Psalm 91: 14 says, "Because he loves me," Says the Lord, "I will rescue him: I will protect him for he acknowledges my name. He will call upon me and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.<br />It's wonderful to know that God is in charge. I don't need to know all the details, that's God's part. Now, how about joining me for a delicious piece of manna?Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-34844207291366522472011-01-05T17:50:00.000-08:002011-01-05T17:52:35.969-08:00The Not So Incredible Journey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip4JE50SzPcy_dVX3QKIIEcgVzfUGlKj8O9u88rHK85VgmkRmtcmqQ9phjZme_wBtC_4HfugLRQ-NQy0i3dVO4-mCkt1qHV3dpEPmr3an0OAywkW3EXOH1Nqot9994NqScaYofGK0KpuE/s1600/Scoutie+came+home+002.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip4JE50SzPcy_dVX3QKIIEcgVzfUGlKj8O9u88rHK85VgmkRmtcmqQ9phjZme_wBtC_4HfugLRQ-NQy0i3dVO4-mCkt1qHV3dpEPmr3an0OAywkW3EXOH1Nqot9994NqScaYofGK0KpuE/s320/Scoutie+came+home+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557819801922028738" border="0" /></a><br />One of my favorite movies when I was a little girl was Disney's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Incredible Journey</span>. The live- action film about 2 dogs and a cat traveling together through trials and tribulations in the Canadian wilderness some 200 amazing miles to get back to their beloved owners was thrilling. I would look at my cat and wonder, "Would you try to find me if we were separated like that?" The remake in the early 90's with the animals voiced by Michael J. Fox and Sally Fields was one of my boys' favorites when they were growing up. Having the animals talk to each other made communication so easy - we knew what they were thinking in every situation: Comedic or frightening. Well, I wish my dog, Scout, could talk right now because she has had a terrible adventure and I have no clue what happened to her.<br />When Mark and I left to go to our friends' Barb and Geza's for New Year's Eve, Scoutie was in her dog house on the side of our house. The side yard is completely enclosed and its where we keep her when no one is home. Hindsight, of course, is 20/20 and we should have put her in the garage with our cats, Hershey and Bandit, because of the fireworks and noise that come with the New Year.<br />When Mark and I got home at 12:30 AM, he went to check on her and discovered that she was gone. Somehow she had pulled herself up over the makeshift fence blocking the side yard from the back yard and then, apparently, squeezed between 2 boards in the fence to make her escape. Whether through sheer doggy curiosity or terror from the noise, I am pretty sure that if Scoutie <span style="font-style: italic;">could</span> talk, she would say, "I've made a big mistake."<br />Mark drove around for about 30 minutes then continued to get up and check every hour until morning to see if she had come home.<br />New Year's Day, we both kept checking for her. I made "Lost Dog" signs and Mark rode his bike all over our neighborhood, posting the fliers and looking for our little lost pup.<br />By today, we had pretty much decided she wasn't coming back. We knew we would be calling the Animal Shelter tomorrow to see if she had been picked up but, since we live out in the county, I didn't really expect that animal control had been out in our neighborhood that night. Our best hope was that someone who wanted and needed a sweet dog had found her lost and alone and had taken her home.<br />Then, this afternoon, I opened the front door to shake out a tablecloth in the front yard. It was pouring rain. As I stepped out the door I looked up to see what could have been a scene from any Disney animal film. There was Scoutie, walking very slowly and barely able to put one foot in front of the other. She was covered in mud and trembling in the cold rain. I called for Mark and encouraged Scoutie to come into the house. I ran to get towels while Mark knelt down to hold her. We realized that the "mud" was actually dried blood and it was clear that she had been badly hurt. We carried her into the bathroom and gently set her in a warm bath where Mark carefully bathed her wounds. We gave her fresh water to drink which she downed immediately and later some food. It was clear she hadn't eaten in a long time. Then she laid down in her bed and fell into a very deep sleep. We have been checking on her every little while. She's had more water and another round of food. She has stopped trembling. It is clear that she is overjoyed to be back home. From the wounds it appears she tried to crawl under a barbed wire fence or something sharp like that. The cuts and gashes are all around her neck.<br />As I was sitting there on the floor with her, I got to thinking that Scoutie's adventure reminded me a lot of how we are with God sometimes. He puts us in a place that is good and safe. He cares for us and meets our needs - even when we don't realize it or when we think we need more: Bigger and better needs that God should meet. Scoutie was in a good place with a warm doghouse, fresh water, room to run and 2 great meals a day - not to mention a family that loved and cared for her.<br />Like Scoutie, though, sometimes we become dissatisfied with what God has provided for us and we want to escape the lives we have...kind of sounds a little bit like the story of the Prodigal son, doesn't it? We strike out to experience an ill-advised and ill-planned adventure, consequences be damned! Or, perhaps Scoutie's actions were motivated purely because of terror and fear. We can make lots of mistakes if we react to things that scare us rather than stopping to pray for God to protect us and calm our fears. Scoutie was never really in danger. The noises scared her but she was in a safe place. Still, poor thing, she ran away.<br />I think she is going to be ok. It must have been terrifying. We have no idea where she's been or what really happened. I am certain she would not have survived another night in the freezing, rainy cold. We are so grateful she made it home. I imagine this is how God treats his beloved children when they come home from some mistaken adventure. He washes off the mud, blood and sin. He clothes us in clean garments, he strokes our heads and heals our wounds and lays us down in soft beds. He loves us back to himself.<br />I hope its a story with a happy ending. I do know, however, that when the large gash on Scoutie's neck heals, it going to leave a pretty big scar. That's going to be a life long reminder of her nightmare adventure.<br />Its often that way with the sins in our lives too. We are loved back to God but we still bear the consequences of those wrong choices.<br />So, this year I hope and pray that I am able to remain close to the Lord, that I find my satisfaction in the places he sets my feet and guides me to walk. When I am tempted to do something I know I shouldn't, I hope I remember Scoutie's New Year's Not So Incredible Journey. It's my prayer for you too!<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">UPDATE</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Well, poor Scoutie is</span> struggling to recover. We took her the vet on Monday and were told that all the wounds were definitely the result of an attack by another animal, probably a large dog. It must have been a fierce battle. The doctor shaved all the hair around the wounds and cleaned them a bit - she was really mauled. I can't imagine how she survived the fight and then 2 nights out in our uncharacteristically bitter cold (it was below freezing both nights). We've been cleaning and dressing the wounds and giving her antibiotics. Today we've discovered that she probably has a couple of broken or cracked ribs. She mostly sleeps, walking to go outside is difficult and she has no energy. We're doing all we can to love her back to health. She's a good little patient, though, and she never complains when we change her bandages. I don't think I would be so good.Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-22647288733886228612010-12-19T21:48:00.000-08:002010-12-20T11:17:19.234-08:00Band of Brothers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1YTIbWegMnyCrWaGEQ0L_J63lxYyfhOszUo4WQn2K0q2DVj-esV3uV90wOAjrUpF5tzIpL7-BQ6HCOc-5KtkS27zYIEi_5Z1bhgTpgW5vCn1KLVlGton0G9cjk-K_Ww9bwl8scwlkso/s1600/Video+game+boys.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1YTIbWegMnyCrWaGEQ0L_J63lxYyfhOszUo4WQn2K0q2DVj-esV3uV90wOAjrUpF5tzIpL7-BQ6HCOc-5KtkS27zYIEi_5Z1bhgTpgW5vCn1KLVlGton0G9cjk-K_Ww9bwl8scwlkso/s320/Video+game+boys.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552644836697539282" border="0" /></a><br />I'm so happy right now. In the very next room (in my very small house) there are boys laughing and screaming and even wrestling a bit. I kind of feel like I've stepped back in time. It could be 10 years ago except the voices are deeper. The conversations - all wrapped around some ridiculous video game is so nonsensical its not worth repeating (or even deciphering). Probably if this were 10 years ago, I would be telling them to settle down, stop yelling so loud. In fact, at 10 minutes to 10 pm, I would have definitely been telling them that it's waaaaayyy past their bed time, so turn off the game and get into their jammies and GO TO BED.<br />Instead, I am reveling in the hilarious joy of their camaraderie. I am especially enjoying the fact that its Isaac who is teaching his older brothers how to play. The level playing field has arrived for Isaac: He is equal to his brothers for one of the first times in his life. So cool. The soldier, the auditor and the college student have warped BACKWARD into a band of boisterous brothers who could easily all be 13 instead of 18, 23 and 25.<br />There is something so spectacular for a parent to see her children growing into adulthood and remaining friends. They are related. They are brothers. But that does not guarantee that they will actually be friends. Daniel, the oldest, doesn't happen to be here right now but he would fit right in and he will be as much a part of the week long holiday festivities as the days unfold. Of all the Christmas gifts I could ever wish for, this is the best. I just want to wrap it all up in a big shiny red bow and keep it forever.<br />well, I've got to go - the boys want me to watch a movie with them! Its 10:30 and they're starting a movie and they want <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> to watch it with them. It doesn't get any better than this!Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-7928617976349871772010-11-25T00:12:00.000-08:002010-11-25T01:24:16.220-08:00A Little Slice of Heaven<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgCw-7Gt15usIDrHKUBEO7IhwY4VB9arQjMzLhcuB3vivPqP7BYdh_fqgBdgLJ38ewqBM7o60J8RaOc1bBeMq19KOwzHHl0sei1O_4cKHIOkmHg4VrLItdNCrrUTfgoSICh6OXc_4nM0/s1600/Pumpkin+pie+and+tea+2.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgCw-7Gt15usIDrHKUBEO7IhwY4VB9arQjMzLhcuB3vivPqP7BYdh_fqgBdgLJ38ewqBM7o60J8RaOc1bBeMq19KOwzHHl0sei1O_4cKHIOkmHg4VrLItdNCrrUTfgoSICh6OXc_4nM0/s320/Pumpkin+pie+and+tea+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543412312071104594" border="0" /></a><br />It's the day before Thanksgiving and everyone in my immediate family can tell you exactly what I did today. Jordan is in Texas with Georgia's family, Daniel is in Northern California with Erin's family, Andrew worked and Isaac was kind of in and out before he drove to visit a college friend but every single one of my boys, if queried, could tell you what their mom was doing today.<br />If its the day before Thanksgiving, they know that I spent the entire day baking pies.<br />It's become a nearly 30 year tradition - although my love for baking pies goes back much further than that - but providing all the pies for the Monroe Thanksgiving dinner has become a tradition that is apparently set in stone.<br />I stay in my slippers, rarely put on make-up and cover my jeans and sweatshirt with an apron that will be completely covered in flour, custardy goop, cinnamon and nutmeg and a multitude of other spills by day's end. It is not pretty.<br />I make sure I have all my ingredients, my pastry sheet, my rolling pin, a hot cup of tea and THEN to complete my pre-baking prep, I pop in the first movie of the day. This is essential to the success of pie day. It is the first day I allow myself to watch my Christmas Themed movies and I have complete control over the TV the entire day. It is part of the recipe for me, as important as the Granny Smith apples or the vanilla extract. Yes, I know it's Thanksgiving and I am talking about Christmas movies but who said a time-honored tradition has to necessarily make any sense? Its a tradition, just go with it.<br />Today, as I started with pie #1 (Pecan) I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Women</span>. Though not "technically" a Christmas movie, it does begin with Christmas and has another wonderful Christmas scene when Beth is surprised by the new piano given to her by Laurie's Grandfather. I love that movie and I cry every time. Every single time. I know that Beth is going to die and I still cry when their Housekeeper, Hannah, is strewing rose petals on Beth's dolls. I had Pie #2 (Pumpkin) in the oven by the time <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Women</span> ended and I had popped in <span style="font-style: italic;">The Family Stone</span>. This is such a great movie with a wonderful ensemble cast: Diane Keaton, Rachel McAdams, Luke Wilson, Claire Danes, just to name a few. Its a movie that makes me laugh out loud <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> cry. While the family's make-up is very different than my own, there is still something so funny and familiar and awkward about families trying to stretch themselves to include the new loves of their adult children: to make them feel welcomed and an instant part of the fabric of a family that has been long together.<br />Next came Pie # 3 (Apple). I was peeling apples as I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">Sleepless in Seattle</span>. Is there a better romantic comedy? The early 90's hairdos are classic, Rosie O'donnell is still an amusing "side kick" and Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are at their best. Tom and Meg were just getting on the elevator on the Empire State Building when I finished the pie crusts for the custard pies.<br />Today's finale film was one of my all-time favorites: <span style="font-style: italic;">White Christmas</span> with Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, Vera Ellen and Bing Crosby. I can sing every song and say nearly all the dialogue but I still love it. I made pie #4 (Chocolate Cream), pie #5 (Banana Cream) and pie #6 (Coconut Cream) and had them all in the refrigerator by the time those four were singing the signature song at the end of the movie (decked out in their red velvet costumes, trimmed in white fur).<br />So now "Tomorrow" is here. It's 1:15 AM on Thanksgiving morning and the pies are ready for transport to the Monroe family gathering. It will be great to see all the family but, (and I feel kind of sheepish admitting all of this, really because everyone thinks I work so hard), to be honest, Thanksgiving Day has just become the excuse to spend the entire day before baking and watching movies. Its a labor of love I hope I never have to relinquish. Now, where is my copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Elf</span>????Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-18966892988192353912010-10-26T21:05:00.000-07:002010-10-27T00:19:10.263-07:00Scared.... And Not Afraid To Say It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYy1ZZQgQqjjzOH9QX0NMw2KrtAyxrClKGcWR4k3p_R4DccvknIdNUzazn1Dvl4DdismScZqBWM5vwZEceZ8aGzaOwz_u2H5vAPjxe5-7Neukw4DA0hqdCtcIsUc61z-U5Dpx9FB71VbM/s1600/halloween.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYy1ZZQgQqjjzOH9QX0NMw2KrtAyxrClKGcWR4k3p_R4DccvknIdNUzazn1Dvl4DdismScZqBWM5vwZEceZ8aGzaOwz_u2H5vAPjxe5-7Neukw4DA0hqdCtcIsUc61z-U5Dpx9FB71VbM/s320/halloween.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532621941803715794" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >It's the week before Halloween and everywhere I look there are scary things: Ghosts, skeletons, witches, gravestones, spiders and their webs. Can I just say right off the top, I don't really care for Halloween. There are two reasons really. The first is that, being in the theater business, I'm dealing with costumes and dressing in character all year round. There's nothing really enticing for me to get into some kind of character or costume. In fact, I find it kind of weird that adults get so excited about it. When I answer the door for the Trick-or-Treaters, its just as likely that the parents are as dressed up as the kids. "Whoo-hoo" for them (Darth Vader and Marge from the Simpsons) but there's always that awkward moment of whether I should throw a Snickers or Skittles into their bag too (and why do they have a bag anyway?)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >The second (and main) reason I'm not a big fan of Halloween is because I don't like to be scared. My boys will attest to the fact. I DO NOT LIKE TO BE SCARED. I avoid scary movies. I hate it when someone sneaks up on me. I don't like being in scary situations. On Friday, I am putting myself in a very scary situation by going to a play that I already know is, as my son Daniel put it, the "scariest play I've ever seen." I'm already really scared and it's still 3 days away. The play, titled,</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > Woman in Black</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >, is a ghost story that requires only 2 actors assuming various roles. I asked Daniel to send me the synopsis of the play, thinking if I read the plot, I would know what to expect. Wrong. I read the synopsis and now I am more scared than I was before. Thankfully, Isaac and Andrew (who, oddly, LIKE scary things) are coming with me. Their hands will be crushed by the sheer transference of fear from my hands to theirs by the end, I am sure. (You may be wondering why I am going at all, if I am so afraid. Its a long story but the bottom line is, its something I want to do to support someone who showed me a great kindness recently).<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgQ6krzC_2xlllDFs7oH6RObbk3YdWI4u02J57Z3njKNigIlkieFnwsD5pNZuBKso69ctzZMdhqDfMwH_URAs6j7o4aqRvYls9KLNBnZVGmlg17NX9uRbULf8QSOhess-wLqBALEOYI0/s1600/crying+girl.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgQ6krzC_2xlllDFs7oH6RObbk3YdWI4u02J57Z3njKNigIlkieFnwsD5pNZuBKso69ctzZMdhqDfMwH_URAs6j7o4aqRvYls9KLNBnZVGmlg17NX9uRbULf8QSOhess-wLqBALEOYI0/s320/crying+girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532600036042565282" border="0" /></a></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >The funny thing is that the traditional form of scary fears I am referring to doesn't hold a candle to the fear I felt today. I got myself so worked up with fear, I actually threw up. No kidding.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Why? What was I so afraid of? Well, I had to make a few cold calls. That's all. My non-profit, Christian Arts and Theatre, is in the first few days of our 50 Day Year-End Challenge to raise $50,000. The Lord laid it on my heart to launch this challenge and so we did 3 days ago. I'm praying every day that the Lord is going to find a way but the truth is that clearly it is for me to do the work. Man, it's so easy on paper or when I am talking to my staff or board members. It's even easy to write about it (See, I am NOT scared now!) But this afternoon, I needed to call a businessman I had met last week to see if he had made a decision whether or not he wanted to help with the challenge and I was paralyzed. I was so afraid. I called my friend, Mary, who had introduced me to this very nice man and told her I was afraid. "What's the worst that can happen", she asked? Of course, I knew the answer (all together now),"He could say 'no'". That's right. The worst thing that could happen is that he could say no. What is so scary about that? Well, it will mean that I have failed. That some how I didn't use the right words to convince him of the value of helping CAT or the very real need we have or how sure I am that God wants him to give us a donation. I just didn't want to blow it. And I didn't want him to say no. And he was just the first call I wanted to (theoretically) make.</span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > 1 Chronicles 28:20 says: "Then David continues, 'Be strong and courageous and </span><b style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">DO THE WORK</b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > (</span><i style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">emphasis mine</i><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >) Do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord God, my God is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you." BOY! Now that's a fear-slayer of a verse, isn't it? Doesn't that make you feel confident? I have been given this task - this task of the 50 Day Challenge and I need to face my fear, pick up that phone and talk to everyone about it and leave the results to the Lord. I cannot control what Mr. Very Nice Businessman decides to do. I can only DO THE WORK.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >[By the way, I did make the call and was sent through to his voice mail (maybe he was avoiding me, maybe he really was in a meeting....) and now I will need to call again tomorrow. So I get the chance to face my fear ALL over again. ]</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >What scares you besides the ghouls and goblins waiting behind every bush and tree this time of year? Hey, God's promise is for us all - he's with us and he won't fail or forsake us. So come on, join me in buckin' up on courage. I'll make more cold calls and you do your scary thing. I'll work on raising that $50,000 and you tell me what God helped you do: We've got 50 days to accomplish something big. I can't wait to hear your story and I can't wait to tell you the end of mine!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><span style="color:black;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-7257315226552400002010-10-07T22:31:00.000-07:002010-10-09T10:37:13.463-07:00Time for TeaAnyone who knows me ev<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5e624SNB1nqERk40heiHgmOIVtIk-IBF78aBl1d-_mJokMtEn0y-TnNZK1m_JvEEJsrO95J_iXAxxq9nbCkIOGUNe_ndy2w1GounGYe6H_-OEHPD_vxcnsBD6usykTTokiBSzeQQyXlY/s1600/tea-party1.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5e624SNB1nqERk40heiHgmOIVtIk-IBF78aBl1d-_mJokMtEn0y-TnNZK1m_JvEEJsrO95J_iXAxxq9nbCkIOGUNe_ndy2w1GounGYe6H_-OEHPD_vxcnsBD6usykTTokiBSzeQQyXlY/s320/tea-party1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525553944403985570" border="0" /></a>en the slightest bit knows I love tea. From my youngest days my mom would fix me a hot cup of Lipton tea for breakfast or dinner. No sugar. No lemon. No milk. Tea the way God intended: Straight, strong and really hot. Of course, come summer, I switch to iced tea. "Iced.tea.no.lemon". My children order for me at restaurants. My staff, if they are picking up a drink for lunch for me, know. Clear, pure and refreshing.<br />Because I love tea, some people decided I should collect tea pots. I started receiving tea pots for birthdays, Christmas or just because. I never intentionally began collecting them and now I have dozens. Literally. Every shape, color, size and for any occasion. The very last gift my Grandma Mickey (my mom's mom) gave me before she headed off to heaven was a teapot shaped like a Christmas tree. It's one of my favorites. I also have a porcelain teapot and cups favored by Catherine the Great from the Lomonosov China Company in St Petersburg, Russia. My mother-in-law, Wanda, carried the set wrapped in the Russian newspaper,<span style="font-style: italic;"> Pravda</span> in a wobbly cardboard box tied with twine on her lap the entire flight from Moscow to Los Angeles without so much as a chip. An incredible feat to be sure! That teapot is also one of my favorites.<br />So where am I going with this teapot story? Well here it is. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH58Yc0122fn8X-d56mPO6lhXvZnEmIuKSOt7DP1EdId7b7CkX14cIvivpPZDMM5UmrS2bSia-3ELvMwiD7zRdQQvPbYM0lhRcifM4ow-QE822DzOPemL9FD-7qsj60XokfgzA9ulvuOQ/s1600/tea_party-02.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH58Yc0122fn8X-d56mPO6lhXvZnEmIuKSOt7DP1EdId7b7CkX14cIvivpPZDMM5UmrS2bSia-3ELvMwiD7zRdQQvPbYM0lhRcifM4ow-QE822DzOPemL9FD-7qsj60XokfgzA9ulvuOQ/s200/tea_party-02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525550527858736562" border="0" /></a>Talking about tea and a collection of teapots is safe. Friendly. Completely lacking in controversy. Now, what if I change directions just a tiny bit and talk about a tea party? Well, tea parties are for the most part non-controversial too. Lovely, dress up events that usually involve over-sized hats, cucumber sandwiches and scones served with devonshire cream and lemon curd. A yummy yawner of a blog.<br />No, I want to talk about <span style="font-style: italic;">THE</span> Tea party movement and the incredible turn of events our country seems to be experiencing this fall. If any of my sons were reading over my shoulder right now, I know that a least one or two would be saying, "No, Mom, don't go there". So certain are they that I am going to offend someone with my wild conservative rantings. Yes, I rant at home and why not? You know what I think? (I get to say, its my blog). I think that for too long people (Women) who think like I do have behaved far too nicely. Nice girls keep their opinions to themselves, after all. When I was a young girl watching the students protests over the Viet Nam war or the bra-burning feminist movement, I was horrified. That's not how nice, Christian people behaved. I (literally) sang Kum Ba Yah around a church camp fire, volunteered at the Convalescent Hospital, and worked on the yearbook at school. My parents and their friends were all Republicans as far as I knew but they weren't passionate about politics. I don't think I heard my parents ever have a political discussion. They just worked hard, took nothing or expected anything from the government. The less intrusive, the better. I grew up with lots opinions about all sorts of things but never politics. Neither did any of my church friends. When I was a young wife and mother I was a speaker for an organization that held monthly luncheons all over the country. The clubs were cookie cutter alike and at each club luncheon they would remind the ladies that they only had three forbidden topics: We couldn't tell our real age, weight or talk politics. There it was again: Nice Christian women did NOT discuss or (gasp) offer an opinion about the political landscape.<br />It's one of the reasons (and a pretty valid one) that our country has slid down the slippery slope toward the massive mess we are in right now. We've gone to "heck" (children are reading this) because we've been too stinking nice.<br />Saturday Night Live has had a long run of making fun of conservatives like me. I have laughed while cringing. Tina Fey as Sarah Palin has gotten loud laughs from me. A writer I really love, Anne Lamott, wrote an editorial column in the L.A. Times (9/29/10), sarcastically ridiculing people I admire, musing that should conservatives win the majority in November, America will become an unrecognizable place of hatred, injustice, unbreathable air and a whole host of other terrors. I disagreed with her assessment 100% but does that mean I like her any less as a person, as a writer? Of course not.<br />But am I, a nice conservative Christian girl, allowed to express myself, to counter liberals like Anne with my own passionately-held opinions? Am I allowed, as the leader of a non-profit organization dependent on the kindness of grants and gifts from patrons and donors, to risk stepping up and out, lifting my voice for the things about this country that I hold dear? You bet! I am emboldened these days by the rise of a whole contingent of strong conservative wom<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMR5bRTzzx-KX_VIoZiVvjvpTH6JqwSozP2PMtmsaDT4u-z3HQxGvaUc2daSHEcYj8kN5IySTuEGD0_yq_Ey24Zka6u9OQfF4ZmjGQUflodpMM907QqRkwNEEUf4BZD1dT986XYwTaWg/s1600/rosie+traditional.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMR5bRTzzx-KX_VIoZiVvjvpTH6JqwSozP2PMtmsaDT4u-z3HQxGvaUc2daSHEcYj8kN5IySTuEGD0_yq_Ey24Zka6u9OQfF4ZmjGQUflodpMM907QqRkwNEEUf4BZD1dT986XYwTaWg/s320/rosie+traditional.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525553099703807186" border="0" /></a>en. Smart, secure, dedicated and passionate about our country and pressing the issues that I think are vital - a government that knows its place, protects the rights of ALL its citizens (including those yet to be born), and operates within its means, just for starters. There is a whole slate of them: Bachman, Palin, Fiorina, Angle, Malkin, Cupp, and on the list goes. What a turn around from my depths of despair just 10 months ago with the passage of the greatest boondoggle in America history, Obamacare.<br />A fire has been lit, we nice conservative girls have taken off our aprons, and stepped into the political arena. Things are going to get interesting!<br /><p> </p> Now, I'm certain that some reading this could not disagree with me more. That's ok. I'm all for the conversation. I love you as much as ever. Let's talk about it over a nice, hot cup of tea!Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-27732686872995502422010-09-16T21:00:00.000-07:002010-09-17T08:45:46.681-07:00Nothing Ordinary About Them<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GruxGCOIZyP-MTwgLAVMh49Zl_5PqASjAXRo6OXuO2NL5W8-xEPwXnSTDgCPaahX31NlDTH8wJ4yhHhMvewD1_22UQJcOuzZNgKdftUWCoQ9fJajG3R168MngbUlcihuDpJQxkx_BtY/s1600/prayerimages.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GruxGCOIZyP-MTwgLAVMh49Zl_5PqASjAXRo6OXuO2NL5W8-xEPwXnSTDgCPaahX31NlDTH8wJ4yhHhMvewD1_22UQJcOuzZNgKdftUWCoQ9fJajG3R168MngbUlcihuDpJQxkx_BtY/s320/prayerimages.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517722915179602146" border="0" /></a><br />I've had the privilege of sitting across a table with some amazing women this week. None of them have had best sellers published or starred in a movie or television show. Outside of their own sphere of friends and family, you wouldn't even know any of these women but that doesn't change the fact that each of them is amazing.<br />First, on Monday morning I had breakfast with my friend, Denise. We get together infrequently to drink tea and share what's happening in our lives. Denise and I haven't known each other a real long time, but we share some things in common that draw us together and we are a good "listening ear" for one another.<br />The main thing that we share together is our faith walk. Denise loves the Lord with all her heart and has such a tender, sweet relationship with him that I love to be with her.<br />Over our meal of omelets and muffins, she told me a story that I simply have to share (with her permission) because it was so encouraging to me.<br />First let me say that when I look in the mirror, I see an ordinary woman. I mean it. Sometimes I look better than ordinary because I've won the "what do I do with my hair?" contest or I've dressed in a way that hides some of my flaws (a small miracle, to be honest) but by most accounts, I am ordinary at best. I would describe my friend, Denise, the same way. Neither of us has a face that would launch a 1,000 ships, if you know what I mean. We're just garden variety, "somewhere in the middle" age women.<br />BUT! Denise is a superwoman of faith. Humble. Loyal. Honest to a fault. And she has an incredible prayer life. Her life mirrors many of the people I know. She came to Christ as an adult. Her husband is still an unbeliever but she continues to pray for him daily. She has two teenage sons and a full-time job.<br />Denise works for a huge, world-wide, well recognized company that is in the business of making people happy. As is often the case, when you pull the curtain back from a place like that, you find that its a bit of smoke and mirrors. Denise works behind the scenes in an accounting capacity. She has worked for this company for nearly 25 years.<br />The short story is that one day, in the middle of her daily routine, she was told by her supervisor to come with him. She soon found herself in a very small room with an "interrogator" and three other people of in supervisory position. Denise realized almost immediately that she was being accused of stealing from her company. For four hours she was drilled, questioned and put on the defensive. Talk about terrifying!<br />She calmly walked through all her processes and procedures, showing the investigator exactly how she does her job. But as she was telling me this story, I kept thinking how scary it would be. She had no warning and she no chance to prepare herself for the meeting. I asked Denise if she had an advocate in that room with her during all the questioning. She smiled and said, "Only Jesus. He was in that room with me the whole time. He was standing behind my chair with his arms wrapped around me." Wow! That's a beautiful picture. When I asked her what her demeanor was, was she crying, etc. She said she was very matter of fact, she said, until one point in the conversation when she felt like the investigator was trying to get her to confess to something she would never do (embezzle funds). Denise said, "It was the only time I raised my voice. I shook my finger at the guy and said. 'I am a Christian. Jesus is my Lord and Savior and I would never do something like this.'"<br />After she was finished with the investigation, everyone left the little room except Denise. She was just sitting there all alone. She looked around the room, knowing she was probably still being taped or videoed, and she prayed aloud, "Jesus, please help me. I know I am innocent and you know I am innocent. Help me." What a great response. She placed all of her hope and trust in her Lord and Savior, knowing he was in the room with her. I would hope that I would have handled myself as well as Denise. Of course, she was completely cleared of ANY wrong doing and she is back at work, a bit wiser and more wary but more than anything grateful that God protected her, her integrity and her job. I thought as I drove away from our time together - that girl is something special. She's a warrior!<br />Then, on Tuesday night, I was invited to a home by my friend Fayanna along with 3 other women for dinner and prayer. All five of us have kids attending California Baptist University and all but Fayanna have a new freshmen there. She invited us to gather, get acquainted and then pray over our kiddos.<br />We all had a chance to tell our story around the dinner table. I was so impressed with these girls. All of us were mothers who had given their child over to God. All of us thrilled to have our "babies" at this great Christian school and thrilled that, from all initial indications, our kids were thriving at the school in just a short period of time.<br />Daphne, Cathy, Denise, Fayanna and Cyndi. Five women with very different backgrounds and stories, but linked by that immeasurably wonderful reality that we were all sisters in Christ. We talked and laughed, ate and talked some more. I am pretty sure Fayanna's sister Cora, who lived in the home where we were meeting wanted us to go home sometime before daybreak but it was just so lovely to be together: expressing fears and concerns, telling stories of God's incredible faithfulness and providence, discovering "small world" connections that drew us closer together. Finally, the joy of sitting around a quiet living room praying purposefully for our children as they begin their college adventure: What joy!<br />All these women, by the world's standard would be considered ordinary. Not worth a second glance and yet, to hear their stories and to sit at the very throne of God with them in prayer reminded me again that it doesn't matter at all what the world thinks of us. In God's eyes we are all anything but ordinary.Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-50158814481264893222010-09-07T21:10:00.000-07:002010-09-07T22:46:18.404-07:00Oh Boy! Here Come the Brides<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2OO1GiaWirrngtuAvQZXSOe2oJl7sgQG3LT4c8iWVGMWrAFB3NYnaCwHBiu98DZLHz_Jc6pBTAAxLlX5Qljr0JYtTByrApifPbKKpuftZNGGsnGvwrRkEi4d7M92ufRG-JNsJW92mQWs/s1600/P7110480.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2OO1GiaWirrngtuAvQZXSOe2oJl7sgQG3LT4c8iWVGMWrAFB3NYnaCwHBiu98DZLHz_Jc6pBTAAxLlX5Qljr0JYtTByrApifPbKKpuftZNGGsnGvwrRkEi4d7M92ufRG-JNsJW92mQWs/s320/P7110480.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514391653636964946" border="0" /></a><br />I have happily been the mother of boys my whole "mother" career. I wouldn't have minded having girls back when I started this job but God knew what he was doing when he kept me clear of girls: Everyone who knows me, knows that I can't do hair.<br />So the boys came, one after the other. We had bunkbeds and baseballs, Tonka trucks and Ninja Turtles, Legos and Light Sabers. I loved my Super Hero boys with their towel capes and plastic Golf club "rifles". Rough and tumble was the norm, along with skinned knees and black eyes with a few stitches thrown in for good measure.<br />Every new era brought new joy for me. The "Toddler Years" were hilarious: Daniel was the certified leader of the pack: Jordan did what Daniel said and Andrew tried his best to imitate both of them. I really wished I had written down more of the things they said or did ("Oh, I'll never forget that", I would tell myself. Humpf. I can't remember breakfast) Elementary school days were precious. I remember thinking that 4, 6 and 8 were the perfect ages - they were a bit more self-reliant but still did everything I told them as "the Mommy". When Isaac arrived, all older three boys were thrilled - helpful to a fault.<br />The teen years were even better. All of the boys are funny - seeing them heading into adulthood with these great funny personalities and servant hearts, the love they all have for each other, their commitment to Christ and Family. I just thought it couldn't get any better!<br />Well, here come the Brides!<br />First, it was precious Erin. Poor thing - to be the first daughter in this family. Finding a place on the couch was a death defying feat: the boys were always diving on top of each other and wrestling away. Somehow she remained intact and, despite all the lurking physical danger of four Monroe brothers, she married Daniel in late December 2007. That is one brave girl!<br />She held her own for 2 years then Jordan met Georgia Anne Huckabee of San Angelo, Tx. Almost a whirlwind romance, darling Georgia Anne swept Jordan's heart into hers and they had a story-book perfect wedding just 2 months ago. Suddenly I've got two girls, girls that I love and am thrilled to call my daughters.<br />Now, this past weekend, with barely enough time to catch our breath from the June wedding, Andrew finally proposed to the "just this side of perfect", Ashley Geiger.<br />Ashley and Andrew met on their very first day of classes at Azusa Pacific University in September, 2005. They were in a racquet ball class that took place off campus. The teacher asked students who had cars to raise their hands (Ashley had a car). He then asked the students who needed rides to raise their hands. Andrew raised his hand. The teacher looked at him and said - "You, ride with her" and the rest is history. Almost five years to the day from that first uneventful meeting, Andrew proposed to Ashley at a beautiful park in San Diego county and we are all still reveling in the joy of it. A spring wedding in is the works.<br />Three girls. Three beautiful, special girls who are very different and yet have much in common. They all love Jesus as their Lord and Savior. They all come from great families with wonderful moms and dads who have welcomed my sons into their lives with open arms. They are all adventurous in their own ways: Creative, bold and full of curiosity for what life has to offer. They are all funny and smart and pretty.<br />Hands down, though, the best thing about each of these girls is that they each love their Monroe boy completely with true love AND they love their Monroe boy's brothers. That's a boatload of love.<br />I am blessed - which is a totally wimped out description of what I really feel. Fortunate beyond words. Richer in love than Solomon was in gold.<br />Now, Isaac has some living to do. Starting college is a whole 'nother blog and I hope that the girl God has specially picked out for him is far off in the hazy future. Still, it's not so bad to be loved by three big brothers and their adoring wives, all of whom think Isaac is the best brother ever.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPcUbnUQEGPZ2zt8jOtuqYYw01ao0O3-QGVTcFBY6cZne6p3AcvUKqkKN5muyQNJyL2zRVgZlYOQ84_Y_1fs_jRVOPzade5sRpeMUr_4kBi-K86EexPzDLWDP872CxIBkN5jLZvM1jUs/s1600/050.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPcUbnUQEGPZ2zt8jOtuqYYw01ao0O3-QGVTcFBY6cZne6p3AcvUKqkKN5muyQNJyL2zRVgZlYOQ84_Y_1fs_jRVOPzade5sRpeMUr_4kBi-K86EexPzDLWDP872CxIBkN5jLZvM1jUs/s320/050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514410170384362114" border="0" /></a><br />It's been astonishing to watch them all grow up so fast. I love seeing their faces light up with a look that is now reserved for their beloved. Andrew was positively giddy when Ashley said "yes". It's the face of pure joy - a look I treasured when the boys were 3 (Look, Honey, I brought you a Popsicle) or 7 (Look, Honey, here's a new action figure for you) or 16 (Yes, you can use the car to drive to the beach) and now grown men in their 20's (She really loves you and wants to be your wife!). Oh Boy! I'm going to love this new era!Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-6413864903477580942010-08-28T10:47:00.000-07:002010-10-22T22:31:35.122-07:00I've Picked Up My Stick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqsYnnrPhHIOaW50jUBWWfsclKmwT2kU15twLbdI78w01mZc_dFouBtX70txMZ9PiIONQRwWDk7SI-0x7UjfZWm1827mg-wIh3c1k-LgQQm6ZSA25MdKr7jYfBDEULC23q9vCelrtfwU/s1600/IMG_0300.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqsYnnrPhHIOaW50jUBWWfsclKmwT2kU15twLbdI78w01mZc_dFouBtX70txMZ9PiIONQRwWDk7SI-0x7UjfZWm1827mg-wIh3c1k-LgQQm6ZSA25MdKr7jYfBDEULC23q9vCelrtfwU/s320/IMG_0300.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510550841674537458" border="0" /></a><br />It's been a long time since I've written a blog. In the past 6 months I've been through a dark time and I've been through a time of extreme joy in my family. The dark time, though, was paralyzing and I found I just couldn't write anything personal. I still am not ready to write about it except to say it involved a man who I called a friend and a mentor to my sons who betrayed us so deeply that the wound will be long in healing. He is currently serving a sentence of 150 years (yes, 150) for child molestation.<br />I just have not been able to write here. I set aside my blog and my book. I wrote other stuff - camp skits, the adaptation of the Summer Theater Festival show script, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Emperor's New Clothes</span>, the narration for our summer Ambassador's show, "Let Freedom Ring". I love to write but all those things were not personal. That writing was fun and silly and creative.<br />And even though I have had some wondrous, miraculous things happen that deserve to be shared, I haven't been able to write. Even though I have walked through amazing family events like the high school graduation of my son, Isaac and the storybook-perfect wedding of my son, Jordan, to the beautiful, Georgia Anne Huckabee, I just have not been able to sit down and put my feelings, emotions and thoughts into words.<br />I told a friend of mine that I feel like I've had this soggy wet, wool blanket laying on top of me: Heavy, cumbersome. Hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to think clearly. Now, one of the last things I want to have happen is for you to feel sorry for me or, conversely chide me for letting life get to me. It is what it is. But over the past 24 hours two things happened, two things that were seemingly unconnected.<br />First, last night I was checking my email account for mail that is exclusively for CAT business (Christian Arts and Theatre) and there was an email from someone I didn't know. He introduced himself and told me about a blog/review for a show we did to close out our annual summer festival. He thought I should see it so I wouldn't be blindsided if one of the cast members or patrons should stumble on to it. It was a really nice thing for this stranger to do for me. I thought, first, it was odd for a review to posted AFTER the show was closed. What would be the point of that? The review is terrible, written by someone I do not know. The guy hated our show but it went way beyond that. Before he even got to the review he mocked us for being Christian Arts and Theatre yet doing "Christ-less" shows. He accused us of hiding the fact that we were not politically correct as a Christian arts organization by using our "cute acronym, CAT" and criticized our youth education program about which he clearly knew nothing. The review is crushing and, strangely, very personal. He stepped way beyond the boundaries of a normal theater review to personally attack both me and other cast members. Weird. It felt like a personal vendetta. As I said, I don't know this person and don't understand his agenda. I have a saying at CAT that every child and every parent knows: "There's always another show." If you don't get cast in <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> show, there's always another show around the bend. If you don't do your best in this show, there's always another chance to do better. My point is that we don't really linger long after a show closes - we move on and get ready for the next one. The friendships and memories remain, of course, but ... there's always another show. I share this because all of us in the reviewed show have already moved on. It didn't really matter as far as this reviewer was concerned. His review was published after the fact (thankfully) but that just makes it seem petty and mean spirited. Still, it really hurt my feelings. All the standing ovations, applause, well wishes, notes of congratulations dimmed behind the crushing words of this man. Quoting from the movie, <span style="font-style: italic;">Pretty Woman</span>, "It's easier to believe the bad stuff". I had a hard time sleeping last night: Second guessing, trying to wrap my mind around what he said about our director and our cast - and his special attention to me and another relative of mine in the cast. Boy, he really had his venomous fangs out.<br />Then the second thing happened this morning. Today, August 28, 2010, was the Restore Honor event in Washington DC. It was conceived and hosted by talk show host, Glenn Beck and held on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Well over half a million people (maybe as many as a million) lined the steps, stretched down both sides of the Reflecting pool and stretched beyond the Washington Memorial. Not a political sign in sight. The whole event passed without a single mention of political agenda. The WHOLE 3 1/2 hours (which I watched, riveted, on C-SPAN) was dedicated to honoring our country, the military men and women who serve and have served and the God who has guided us through the past 240 years. The fact that our country is at a crossroads was reiterated over and over: A moral crossroads. The name of Jesus was spoken over and over: A call to humble ourselves and return to our faith. A call to lift our nation up to God, asking for forgiveness and seeking to renew the precepts that our country was founded upon. Men and women of all colors, faith and economic situations were there but it was definitely a call to Christ. It was amazing to hear numerous calls for to us to come to Christ, seek his salvation from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Awards of Merit were given for Faith (a black pastor form Houston Texas), Hope (baseball player, Albert Pujols) and Charity (Jon Huntsman, a billionaire from Utah who has given multi-millions to charity). Stories of incredible military heroism were shared (with the opportunity to thank the ones who's stories were told as they came forward on the stage) Praises were sung. Prayers were raised. And the call was given to DO SOMETHING. Be the one who picks up the proverbial "stick" (referencing Moses) and do something. It was incredibly energizing and thrilling.<br />As I was sitting on my couch, cat stretched across my lap, tea cup in my hand, I felt this stirring in my heart that I haven't had for months. WRITE THIS DOWN.<br />And a connection was made. This man who wrote the hateful review doesn't know me or my heart or my motivation for doing what we do at CAT. But, it would be so easy to let him derail us, let his words and opinion suck the joy, the purpose of CAT out of me. Its not easy to keep this organization going. It's never been easy. The connection came, though, in watching this rally today. In my own <span style="font-style: italic;">very tiny, insignificant way</span>, I <span style="font-style: italic;">have picked up the stick</span>! I am doing something that has value and worth for our community and so have all the CAT staff, CAT board members, parent volunteers and donors.<br />If I do what I do for personal gain or recognition, I would be devastated by the review/blog. I would feel like a total failure and I, likely, would never ever want to step on to the stage again or think I could direct. That's not why I do it. It's a calling I can not deny. Its a gift from the Lord that wholly belongs to him and is in existence for his glory. I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">such</span> a human. I make mistakes (daily), make wrong choices, get discouraged, stumble. I look up to the heavens and ask (out loud, a lot),"When is this going to get easier? When will CAT have enough money to meet all our obligations, when are we going to have enough students or patrons? When....? why...? how...? what....?"<br />You know what I learned today? God said to me, "All I ask you to do, Cyndi, is just pick the stick and I will do the rest. Trust me."<br />Easier said than done. But it feels so good to feel so good. The ice around my frozen heart is melting. The words are flowing again. There's a passel of backed-up blogs in my head still but this will suffice for now.<br />Thanks for your patience. Please pray for me. I mean it. Please pray for me and this organization every day. And if you are so inclined, there's stack of sticks just waiting to be picked up.Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-62941659399376876402010-02-23T17:02:00.000-08:002010-02-23T19:04:35.249-08:00Street Light Kid<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RQ5QlrLn3HdnW_hsAYeUJxQJF4GL8HRIy0KdKYMx_i_N5fXgCOwYJLVKrAq-mP637sOy1wRpPIa4dlPOoLd8DRJfPM5ILzd02CbX7GA1eejOA9l2KXxYQizwEY-tjZQmhRYmrd7vTc4/s1600-h/kids-hairstyles-of-the-1950s.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RQ5QlrLn3HdnW_hsAYeUJxQJF4GL8HRIy0KdKYMx_i_N5fXgCOwYJLVKrAq-mP637sOy1wRpPIa4dlPOoLd8DRJfPM5ILzd02CbX7GA1eejOA9l2KXxYQizwEY-tjZQmhRYmrd7vTc4/s320/kids-hairstyles-of-the-1950s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441636643535668162" border="0" /></a><br />This is one of those, "When I was a kid..." blogs. I've been thinking about this a lot. In fact, I had a serious conversation with my 17 year old, Isaac, about this just the other day. The conversation came after an extended afternoon of me chatting with him while he had his head down and his thumbs flying over his phone. It began when I picked him up from school. He was texting before his butt was in the seat. He was still texting when we got home. He wasn't listening to me, he wasn't engaging in our conversation at all except to look up on occasion to answer a direct question. This isn't even remotely unusual and it certainly isn't limited to teens: 20 somethings up to grey haired adults have been lured and captured by an addiction with Instant Communication. Still it's the teens that I am concerned about: kids are texting their lives away, all the while, losing, I think, the art of conversation, leisure and camaraderie.<br />I have been writing a lot about my childhood lately (you know, for that unpublished book that's lurking in my head). I've been thinking about things I haven't thought about in a long time and when I lay my childhood up against what kids can accomplish today it's pretty amazing. I feel like the Ancient of Days. Yesterday my friend, Catherine, told me her daughter, Jenny, will be spending her summer as the videographer at a camp that teaches kids to swim with the dolphins somewhere in the Florida Keys. My friend, Aran, was also there. Her daughter, Jasmine, is currently in Barcelona. She traveled there from England where she is living and going to school for a year. I feel special when I make it to Bar-Stow. The opportunities our kids enjoy, the access to the world through the internet, the ease of travel, the vast sums of information our kids are confronted with on a daily basis. Incredible.<br />So here it comes... wait for it... "When I was a kid... my brother, Andy, and I would come home from school. I would change into play clothes and then we would go outside to play. We had a secret clubhouse behind our garage and we would collect things in jars to display like a huge bumble bee or a lizard. There were what felt like a zillion kids on our street and we would play every kind of game you could imagine: Kick the Can, Freeze tag, Hide and Seek. We'd have bike races and we'd have battles of various kinds. The rule, of course, was that the minute the first street light came on, Andy and I had to go in. We were the only ones who had to go in when the FIRST light came on which was completely demoralizing to us. The other kids got to stay out until ALL the lights came on. Some got to stay out as late as they wanted.<br />Lots of times we'd go to the local park which was about a mile away. We'd walk or ride bikes. If we wanted other kids to go, we'd go to their house, knock on their door and invite them along. Or we'd just wheel our bikes in front of their house and yell. "Hey, Billy! We're going to Neff Park. Grab your bike and come on." Billy or Jimmy or Tommy or Susan or Linda or Debbie (but NEVER an Ashley or Haley or Brittany or Michael or Josh) would come dashing out, yell back at his mom, "I'm goin' to the park" and off we'd go for 3 or 4 hours. Of course, Andy and I would need to gauge how late we could stay at the park and still be home by the time for first street light came on. There'd be heck to pay if we were late.<br />In the summertime, things were much freer, especially when we would go visit my grandparents in Sedona, Arizona. Before any harmonicas converged, or aliens landed or weirdos arrived in Sedona, it was a sweet, beautiful artist colony/retirement village of about 500 people. My grandparents retired to Sedona from Flagstaff in 1963. They had a mobile home in a neighborhood that backed up to the open red rock country. It was heaven on earth. After breakfast, Andy and I would say goodbye and head out to the rocks. My grandpa had only two rules. If it's cloudy, stay out of the natural washes in case of a flash flood and always look before you put your hand down in case of rattle snakes. That was it. Andy and I would scamper out in shorts and tennies. No sunscreen or hats, no forms of communication, no first aid kit, no bottled water. Just the two of us and the most gorgeous country in the world. We'd go hiking and climbing and exploring for hours on end. We'd climb so high up the rocks that the community (and my grandparents' home) looked like tiny miniatures below us.<br />But in today's world, if we forget our cell phone, even just to run to the market for some milk, we feel lost or naked. We text and Twitter all the time. But converse? Face to face? Or better, yet, leave the phones behind for some freedom from instant communication. That's become a rarity.<br />I think it's all good. I love that I can play (and beat) my brother in Scrabble in a constant on- going tournament even though he is in Reno and I am in Corona. I love that this morning my son, Jordan, sent me a picture text of the falling snow at Fort Hood where he is currently stationed. I love that long, long lost friends of mine have reconnected with me on Facebook.<br />But this is a cautionary tale: Good, meaningful conversation is at risk, I think, of becoming a lost art. Speaking or writing in full sentences is valuable and worthwhile. Looking someone in the eye while you converse instead of the constant "text glance" is respectful. And even more, adventures with someone you like or love, set free of phones or Blackberries or laptops or whatever other gizmos we have become addicted to is worth every minute you give it.<br />Nothing earth shattering in these thoughts. Just a wistful feeling that we are losing something precious. Will our kids ever experience the freedom of non-global communication? Here's a thought... How about creating a new policy at home: no more texting once the street lights come on!Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-2086613310629297242010-01-28T23:00:00.000-08:002010-01-29T07:49:54.708-08:00A Heart for God When It's Hard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgckl-sv-OzXuFg9Lxbgn4zs01WlppT9OUAGEc8gPehEd8dzTXCqXRFi-OkZwTgpIFlK9kFjfum18vPiST9qMcTGH7wPNHmR8W_3wpH9ql6UxlOcrlLy2XjV_iOD_YtJR1xoS26eSMD30M/s1600-h/the_book_of_eli_poster_05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgckl-sv-OzXuFg9Lxbgn4zs01WlppT9OUAGEc8gPehEd8dzTXCqXRFi-OkZwTgpIFlK9kFjfum18vPiST9qMcTGH7wPNHmR8W_3wpH9ql6UxlOcrlLy2XjV_iOD_YtJR1xoS26eSMD30M/s320/the_book_of_eli_poster_05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432045354965832658" border="0" /></a><br />I went to see an unusual movie today called "The Book of Eli". Denzel Washington and Gary Oldham lead an interesting, eclectic cast in this dark and violent film. It caught my curiosity because of the reviews and blogger comments on it being a "Christian" film in some respects although it was a very "R" movie. Some friends of mine had seen it and recommended it as well.<br />I am not interested in writing a movie review but I will say that the film has nicked me, meaning it will stay with me for a while and I want to talk about it a bit. First of all, when a movie gets under my skin and itches until I "scratch" it through contemplation or conversation (my favorite), that's when I know it was a good movie. Generally speaking, I come out of a theater (or turn off my tv/dvd player) and the first thought or words out of my mouth are, "that film could have been so much better - what a disappointment". Currently both film makers and we, the audience, have become so lazy in our expectations that we get what we deserve: Boring films with inane dialogue, tired out devices for humor or romance, obligatory sex and/or violence just to fill the minutes.<br />So when a film grabs me or, even better, surprises me, I really love to talk about it afterwards.<br />As I said, I don't want to review the film, I just want to zero in on this one moment that was like a laser of light in the bleakest backdrop I could have ever imagined. In a bombed out cement column (like you might see at a power plant), Denzel Washington's character and a young woman named Solara are hiding out from some very, very bad guys. The young woman cannot read and has never experienced anything but the darkest days of a destroyed world. She has never seen anything grow, never seen a blue sky, never heard music or witnessed the arts, never tasted anything fresh. She watches Denzel reading from a book, his very special book that he has protected at all costs. A book that has led them to being hunted down like animals. She asks him to read some of it to her.<br />Denzel looks up, closes the book and begins to quote Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh me lie in green pastures, he leads me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. They rod and they staff, they comfort me". And then he smiles.<br />As a believer and a lover of God's word, that moment was transforming for me. "Why", you ask (and thanks for asking). I can't tell you how many times I have heard the 23rd Psalm read or read it myself or quoted it or sung it. It's one of the MOST recognized passages in scripture. But, as I was drawn into the story and the bleak, hopelessness of that post-apocolyptic world, hearing God's word spoken, those words of comfort and hope and peacefulness created an absolute moment of TRUTH. God's word piercing the deepest darkness. The girl yearned to hear more. For the first time, she could glimpse why this book meant so much to him.<br />I came away thinking about my own walk with God. We have so much, so much to distract us from God. Though "just" a movie, Denzel's character clearly understood the value and importance of a close walk with the Lord and spending time in his word. I thought of the believers in Haiti who are living in the bleakest possible conditions, believers in China where many must share one Bible, in Africa where they could be arrested for their faith without a moment's notice... and I asked myself, "would I have the courage, the strength of faith to proclaim God when its so hard. Would I spend time in the word every day, resting in his truth if everything else was taken from me?<br />I had a thought tickling me... I knew I had read somewhere these thoughts put on paper much better than I am doing now. I finally remembered it was an e-mail that I read (and saved) which was part of the eulogy for NBC correspondent, David Bloom who died in Iraq in the early days of the war. He was there covering the invasion and, at the age of 39, died in April 2003. Before he left, he seemed to have a premonition that God might have greater plans for him. Following is an e-mail that he wrote to his wife, Melanie, before he left Kuwait City. This e-mail was read at his funeral service:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> "You can't begin to fathom - cannot begin to even glimpse the enormity -</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">of the changes I have and am continuing to undergo. God takes you to the</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">depths of your being - until you are at rock bottom - and then, if you turn</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">to him with utter and blind faith, and resolve in your heart and mind to</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">walk only with him and toward him, picks you up by your bootstraps and leads</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">you home. I hope and pray that all my guys get out of this in one piece.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">But I tell you, Mel, I am at peace. Deeply saddened by the glimpses of</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">death and destruction I have seen, but at peace with my God and with you. I</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">know only that my whole way of looking at life has turned upside down - here</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">I am, supposedly at the peak of professional success, and I could frankly</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">care less. Yes, I'm proud of the good job we've all been doing, but - in</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">the scheme of things - it matters little compared to my relationship with</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">you, and the girls, and Jesus. There is something far beyond my level of</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">human understanding or comprehension going on here, some forging of metal</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">through fire."</span><br /><br />"...some forging of metal through fire". My friend, Luci Swindoll, calls it the "Alchemy of the Heart" - taking something corrupt and flawed and passing it through the fire, tempering it until it becomes as gold. The movie for me today was one big illustrated reminder that until I allow God to temper me and draw me fully to himself, I will never be strong enough or courageous enough to have a heart for God when it's really, really hard.Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-10361440187655904062010-01-14T19:38:00.000-08:002010-01-14T23:09:12.268-08:00Of All the Blogs I've Ever Written, This Is The Most Recent!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xHtdDBVRt8RWYjKfEGzVJGBcYatbgmEM9PUIkQTDXsYPpot7Aoy-zyXdTllzXJorMmiJdxZxdzP1bmVBDrF78le9hLK4jVpVu31M4kqhfSk_0Ft3VwJqetwWcY0Y6J0rqayTGPJBmrI/s1600-h/3+boys.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xHtdDBVRt8RWYjKfEGzVJGBcYatbgmEM9PUIkQTDXsYPpot7Aoy-zyXdTllzXJorMmiJdxZxdzP1bmVBDrF78le9hLK4jVpVu31M4kqhfSk_0Ft3VwJqetwWcY0Y6J0rqayTGPJBmrI/s320/3+boys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426857708257734466" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Every family has a phrase, sometimes a series of phrases that become part of the family lore. A young child mispronounces a word and the family finds it charming or hilarious and from that moment on "interesting" becomes "instering". My niece, Ali, was the originator of that phrase when she was 3 and she has just turned 30 but we all still say things are "instering". Once, when my boys were in high school, we visited their grandparents at a time share in Palm Desert. We were at the pool and a volleyball net had been strung across. A very boisterous, dare I say, obnoxious family was playing a super competitive game of water volleyball. The dad was especially loud and bellicose and, every time his teenage son made a mistake with the volleyball, he would slap him upside the back of his head and say, "Way to go, Smoothie". Now, we don't even know those people, never saw them again after that one afternoon at the pool but to this day when one of the boys muffs something, especially an athletic endeavor (like badminton or ping pong), someone in the family will invariable utter those immortal words, "Way to go, Smoothie".<br />It's part of who we are. It's those private, quirky words and phrases, the "inside jokes" of a family that make us feel special and inclusive. An entire family can be mad at each other, sitting around the table in silence, almost daring someone to break the tension when one of them whispers the "magic" words like..... "ooops, my fart sneaked out" and WHAM! The explosion of laughter that follows along with the obligatory milk/nose squirt, the choking on a piece of potato and the "laugh tears" dripping uncontained down someone's cheeks completely wipes the memory of "mad" away. The phrase becomes part of the tapestry of the family and is whipped out whenever we need a good laugh or, unwittingly, when it's the appropriate thing to say (like in a packed car after a visit to say, Miguel Jr.'s for lunch).<br />This Christmas my son, Andrew, introduced our newest favorite family phrase. My dad, "Pa" , likes it so much he is using it for nearly every situation he encounters. We were sitting around the table after an incredible Christmas dinner. It was, I do believe, the best ever (or at least, at that moment it seemed like that but, in retrospect, I probably say that <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> year). Andrew, looking content beyond words, pushed himself back from the table (no small effort) and announced, "Of all the Christmas dinners I have ever had, <span style="font-style: italic;">THIS</span> was the most recent". There was a beat of maybe 2 counts then a barrage of laughter that took some minutes to die down. Andrew gave credit where credit is due - his Musical Theater teacher at Azusa Pacific University, Bart McHenry used the phrase when the kids would perform for him ("Of all the songs I have heard performed this year, THAT was the most recent..."). Nevertheless, we thought Andrew to be the funniest, most clever boy and we laughed and laughed then used the phrase tirelessly the rest of the day:"Of all the gifts I have ever gotten for Christmas... ok, you get it, I know.<br />The worst thing is I get such a kick out of things like that... more than my family, certainly more normal, well-adjusted people. My family often look at me as I am laughing uncontrollably at something they don't even find mildly amusing, saying things like, "There she goes again. Let's just leave her alone until she gets over it." I had one of those moments last night. A friend of mine was doing me a great favor and we were in a time crunch to get this small project completed. He got a phone call and, while I was not trying to eavesdrop, the person on the other end of the line was agitated and talking quite loudly. I could hear both sides of the conversation clearly. My friend remained completely calm while the person on the other end was recounting a small calamity which she felt needed his immediate attention. While he explained that he was in the middle of something and couldn't help at just that moment, the other person proclaimed what I am sure she thought was the piece de resistance as far as an explanation, "The woman has a <span style="font-style: italic;">pacemaker</span>!!"<br />Now, you, a perfectly nice, normal person do not think that is funny. You shouldn't. It's not really funny. But, the <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> normal me, found it so funny that I had to bite the inside of my cheeks and slap my hand over my mouth so I would not guffaw all over the place and insult the sincerely concerned person on the end of the line. There was something so funny to me about that phrase being the culmination of her argument when the conversation had never been about a woman but rather a young adult man who was involved in a minor fender bender.<br />I keep thinking that is the perfect thing so say in conversations that aren't going well. The ones where I find myself frustrated beyond words and need some levity to straighten things out, I will henceforth say, 'The woman has a <span style="font-style: italic;">pacemaker</span>!!" It's just another phrase to add to my family's lore. And because we are told that laughter is good medicine, I'm praying that using phrases that make me laugh long and loud will keep me from being that woman who has a pacemaker for a long, long time!Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-70979772772188501102010-01-06T14:49:00.000-08:002010-01-06T19:45:33.121-08:00Winning The Resolutionary War!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKq0tvkTjjyDmlwbk1hSXICoSzJcWcHSh-54Xilit3BOi8pmYUnL-Xm2UZuLNx2bKzjloo_iPoaDmU-myzryqPgu0O7kXAAgdWshugjAA3qOK1pITr9y_kJIkIz6o3rtMl3rY3-8PXDX0/s1600-h/sexy-soldiers-ledger-gibson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKq0tvkTjjyDmlwbk1hSXICoSzJcWcHSh-54Xilit3BOi8pmYUnL-Xm2UZuLNx2bKzjloo_iPoaDmU-myzryqPgu0O7kXAAgdWshugjAA3qOK1pITr9y_kJIkIz6o3rtMl3rY3-8PXDX0/s320/sexy-soldiers-ledger-gibson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423837849786314466" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Here it is, the first week of January: A brand new year. More than that: A brand new decade! Wow! Makes me all shivery! 2010: That's fun to say!<br />OK, so over the past few days my daily newspaper, the evening news, my internet provider, programs like Oprah, Ellen, Drs. Oz and Phil, Dateline and 20/20 plus any number of friends have been brimming over with advice on making and keeping New Year's resolutions: "Don't be unrealistic, just get started, accept your mistakes, count your successes" and on and on it goes. I can't turn in any direction without reading or hearing or seeing <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span> about resolutions. I'd feel downright guilty if I didn't make at least one!<br />The thing is - this isn't the time we need the advice or encouragement. Heck, we all have tremendous resolve right now. It's a new year: everyone has a shiny, clean slate and success is just waiting to be claimed.<br />It reminds me of a scene from the Mel Gibson movie, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Patriot</span>. [As a complete digression, I must say that I have <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> been a big Mel fan - the <span style="font-style: italic;">old</span> Mel anyway, the "pre-weird rant, mid-life crisis, dump my wife of 30 years and my 7 kids for a newer model" Braveheart Mel. MAYBE he will make some resolutions to clean himself up and be the guy we all used to love and admire... but that's whole other blog]. But as I said, I digress. Back to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Patriot</span>: Remember at the beginning of the movie when the South Carolina state congress, against Mel's objections, votes to declare war against England? The people are delirious with excitement. Fireworks are shot off, people are cheering and throwing their hats into the air. <span style="font-style: italic;"> FREEDOM!</span> (Oops, wrong Mel movie). Anyway, only Mel seems to know what lies ahead. He's battled before. He's a veteran.<br />Now fast forward to the scene where Mel's character and his oldest son, Gabriel, are watching out an upstairs window at a disastrous scene playing out before them in the open field below. The British are routing the patriots and the once idealistic, optimistic army of future Americans turn tail and run away as fast as they can in humiliating defeat. Mel puts his arm around his disheartened son and lets him know this is just one battle lost, not the whole war.<br />His timing is, of course, perfect (could the "old" Mel be anything less?) We don't need to be told what to do on December 31st or January 4th when our resolve and hopes are high. It's when the new bag of M&M's is suddenly, inexplicably 1/2 empty ("Melts in your mouth, not in your hands!" - obviously a brilliant scheme to hide all evidence) or an <span style="font-style: italic;">empty</span> pint carton of Black Raspberry Avalanche Dreamery Ice Cream is found in your personal office trash can ("How in the world did that get in there?") Or when, despite every good intention, you forget to call your mother for three weeks or you accidentally nag your husband again (and again) about ________ (fill in blank).<br />It's losses in these individual battles that lead to complete defeat in the Resolutionary War. You see, it's in the <span style="font-style: italic;">middle</span> of the campaign when hope for success dwindles. When the enthusiasm at the starting line is just a dim memory and victory is still too far off to seem attainable. Come January 27th or February 13th or March 6th I'll need my good, old friend Mel to put his arm around me (editorial pause as I close my eyes and imagine the old Mel, the "What Women Want" Mel, actually putting his arm around me) and tenderly encourage me that while I may have lost a battle or two, the Resolutionary War is still winnable. That's when Dr Oz and Phil, Dateline and my local newspaper should all run the articles we are reading <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> week!<br />Of course, it's also about making resolutions that both matter and are absolutely attainable. I made a list of a few resolutions that I intend to keep this year that aren't on the normal top 10 most common resolutions (you know the ones I'm talkingabout: lose weight, spend more time with family, get out of debt, stop smoking, stop drinking and whatever else).<br />For example: I resolve to:<br />1. Do a completely unexpected act of kindness for someone I absolutely loathe and despise. Really. First, it's Biblical - doing a kindness for your enemy will be like heaping burning coals on his head. Sounds totally worth it, doesn't it? (Of course, you cannot assume that if I happen to do something nice for you, I actually loathe you... I LOVE you!). Honestly, it's a great lesson in servanthood. The loath-ee might not even know... but I will know and it will be good for me.<br />2. Order something off a menu that I really don't like and eat it... it's probably going to be fishy... I hate to even think about it. BUT - I need to expand my horizons, open myself up to new experiences, and tastes.<br />3. Finish something: I know what that means to me - I will keep the "thing" to myself, but the point is, I've got some things in my life that I have had dangling in my head and heart for a long time and I aim to finish at least one of those "things" this year.<br />There are a few more, but you get the idea. Those are resolutions for me - just me - and they are completely attainable... at least it feels that way on January 6th.<br />So, are you with me? Let's all resolve to win the Resolutionary War this year! Hip, Hip Hooray! Hip, Hip Hooray! With a little help from the <span style="font-style: italic;">old</span> Mel, how can we go wrong??Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-74168180581189304112009-12-21T21:13:00.000-08:002009-12-21T23:25:32.833-08:00Not meaning to offend<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU_9BHKITBzeTUF1C4ZNqpP_engJax72_bJtzKQxxQ3IYeNI6cpfKACBrIG-5j6VLrt-aDpLUpYBrxMHP37_WcI8DE3vENyqK31q3mUb-LYglxkb2Z-pJtfE6TuiZ6ODBq56WYFqoWY8/s1600-h/liberty.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJU_9BHKITBzeTUF1C4ZNqpP_engJax72_bJtzKQxxQ3IYeNI6cpfKACBrIG-5j6VLrt-aDpLUpYBrxMHP37_WcI8DE3vENyqK31q3mUb-LYglxkb2Z-pJtfE6TuiZ6ODBq56WYFqoWY8/s320/liberty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417952884881597842" border="0" /></a><br />I'm heading into politically incorrect waters with full knowledge that the way I feel about the current state of things is not necessarily shared. Still, I feel like I need to write some things down, because they are weighing so heavy on my heart right now.<br />I was driving to my office this morning when I heard on the radio that the 60 votes needed to pass the senate version of the Obama/Reid health care bill had been reached. A vote for cloture had occurred at 1:00 AM - the very dead of the night.<br />I burst into tears.<br />I feel the greatest sense of fear and loss and helplessness in a way that I have never experienced as an American before. I do not understand how elected senators can move ahead when a large majority of the country so clearly does not support government-run health care. I do not understand how so many people can stand by without a word of dissent as 1/6th of the American economy is poised to be taken over by the government. I wonder how they will feel when our taxes continue to rise, our health care is parsed out, we end up paying for the death of babies and old people are not considered valuable enough to provide proper health care for.<br />I love my young 20-something friends but I can clearly see that they have no real clue what this loss of liberty will mean. They are all about starting their careers, establishing themselves. They are not paying attention and it is at their own peril. Our freedoms, our constitution are being trampled on. We are becoming a society that wants to be taken care of instead of the country that grew to be great on the initiative, creativity, imagination and hard work of it's amazing people. My own boys would prefer that I not talk about the president, his policies, the health care debate or anything even remotely "political" around their friends for fear that I might offend. I try to play nice, I really do.<br />It reminds me about a group I used to speak for: Christian Women's Club - a national women's ministry that seeks to win women to the Lord through luncheons, fashion shows and a compelling speaker. There were "rules" about what the women were able to discuss - "age, weight, politics and religion" were forbidden table talk. The age and weight rules were inserted to lighten the load, so to speak. Let's be careful to not step on toes or question a contrary opinion.<br />But this is so much bigger than politeness and politics. I believe in this past year, America has moved at an incredible pace toward a country that, if unchecked, will become unrecognizable as the country our forefathers envisioned. I am fearful that every freedom that I hold true as an American citizen will continue to slip away. With the government monitoring health care - every aspect of our lives will come under their scrutiny: What we eat, what we wear, how we spend out leisure time, what kind of jobs we're allowed to have, how much we are allowed to earn. Couple health care with the new religion of the environment and I see a nightmare of unequaled magnitude: The government will also tell us what cars we can drive, what kind of televisions we are allowed to have in our homes (already happening in California), even something as benign as when and if we can barbecue: sounds pretty silly and petty, doesn't it? Wait until it happens.<br />Sometimes I feel like the crazy old man you always see in a horror or science fiction film. The one who warns of doom and gloom and yet, as sure as the sun will come up tomorrow, the main characters will ignore as they blithely go on their merry way toward death and destruction.<br />I don't think things are perfect. I know some reform needs to happen. I know over the past 234 years some American leaders have made terrible mistakes: choices based on power plays, personal agendas, prejudices, weakness, on and on. But as a whole, America has survived the bad by staying true to the Constitution, the Bill of rights and the Amendments. For the first time, at least in my lifetime, all of that is being threatened.<br />Still, when I shake off the heavy-heartedness that blankets me and makes me feel like I can barely breathe, I find hope in a couple of things.<br />One: We can change things with the vote. There's a great line in the move <span style="font-style: italic;">Dave</span> delivered when Kevin Kline, playing the presidential imposter, says to the country, "I forgot that this is just a 'temp' job and that you put me here for just a temporary piece of time". It's true. All the elected officials from the president to the senators to the congressmen who are pursuing this strangling, liberty-stealing health care bill are only there at the whim and will of the American people. There will, I pray, be a reckoning in November 0f 2010 and 2012 should it pass. I heard a senator say on the news today, "I know the Americans think they don't want this bill but once it's passed they will see how great it is". Great indeed. Everything else not withstanding, the truth that my my tax dollars will be used to kill innocent, unborn babies is devastating to me. The incredible conceit that an elected official thinks he knows better than his constituents is the worst kind of self-delusional buffoonery.<br />Second: As I know and experience with every other aspect of my life, prayer not only matters, it can change things. God has promised in 2 Chronicles 7: 14 "If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land."<br />If you believe, as I do, that our nation is walking down the wrong path, won't you join me in prayer for our nation, and our leaders?<br />Lastly (<span style="font-style: italic;">and this is really important</span>) I want to say a word for those of you who absolutely couldn't disagree with me anymore if you tried: you like the current administration and think we are heading in the right direction. If you know me at all, you know that I am a true student of the American Civil War. One of the things that has always intrigued me is the depth of faith on both sides of that war. The south had incredible men of faith fighting and praying, utterly convinced they were doing God's will by fighting for the south. Looking back now, 150 years later, that seems difficult - how could anyone who loved the Lord defend a nation that embraced slavery? Yet, from General Robert E. Lee to Stonewall Jackson to many, many others, their faith guided them, led them and kept them strong. Now don't misunderstand, I am not saying that if you disagree with me, I am comparing you to someone who supported slavery. I'm just saying that I don't think the conservatives hold the spiritual edge here (except in the case of abortion - there is no possible justification for the purposeful death of an innocent child).<br />The fact that I feel so strongly about this issue and this current government does not get in the way of my love or friendship for you. If you disagree with me - ok! In fact, I would love to talk about it with you - with all my politeness in place.<br />Now... I need to go pray.... there's still the tiniest piece of hope that we can stop this debacle before it goes any further.Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-48152001733732921762009-12-18T13:18:00.001-08:002009-12-18T13:21:23.078-08:00Tis A Miracle: The Monroe's Annual Christmas Letter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GRf4r1rrkkMG9QUtYnOqxzJur1HaaxOqoTvkDjYIDgxWE1J6auuE1s5sICjek7LyuoNg95eCMLHnUvk0IzhKz8QuU-rGVy28jU2hxa_g5sazvXVye0f7AqKqhZqE2I3PbYQvArt6Ano/s1600-h/PC070055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GRf4r1rrkkMG9QUtYnOqxzJur1HaaxOqoTvkDjYIDgxWE1J6auuE1s5sICjek7LyuoNg95eCMLHnUvk0IzhKz8QuU-rGVy28jU2hxa_g5sazvXVye0f7AqKqhZqE2I3PbYQvArt6Ano/s400/PC070055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416689260085482194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >This is my annual Christmas letter. Some of you might have received a version of it through the mail but I decided to post it here for all to read. It's long, I know, so proceed at your own caution! For those who regularly read my blog, it is a compilation of some of the things I've written about but it never hurts to take a journey again if it was worthwhile the first time. (Wow! That almost sounded profound, didn't it? Honestly, I did not just read that on the back of the Celestial Seasonings tea box!). Here goes:<br />Daniel asked me the other day what the theme for this year’s letter was going to be.<span style=""> </span>I had to admit then that I didn’t have a clue, I hadn’t begun to think about this letter (other than the normal, “YOU’VE GOT TO GET THAT LETTER WRITTEN” beating I give myself annually).<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Last night, when normal people are sleeping, I let my mind meander throughout this year and one word (or its derivative) kept popping up: “Miraculous”.<span style=""> </span>That’s an oft overused word but in the case of the Monroe Clan, it seems appropriate to describe 2009.<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Mark, who usually gets a simple line at the end of the letter saying that he is in his umpteen year at Amerisource-Bergen, gets to go first.<span style=""> </span>In October, Mark was laid off from the job he has held for 27 years.<span style=""> </span>This was a stunning turn of events.<span style=""> </span>Mark had warned me it was coming but I just really couldn’t believe it.<span style=""> </span>When he walked in the door that Tuesday morning, as I was getting ready to head out to my CAT Office, and said, “It’s over!”<span style=""> </span>I still asked, “What’s over?” Then Mark gently explained that he had been laid off.<span style=""> </span>Once the initial shock sort of wore off, the next thing we did was pray together.<span style=""> </span>Miraculously, through the blessings of our faithful God, many friends stepped forward with offers of help, job possibilities and all around support.<span style=""> </span>Within three weeks, Mark was employed with a brand new job at a company here in Corona called Vantage Vehicle International.<span style=""> </span>The company manufactures small electric cars.<span style=""> </span>It’s a good place for Mark to be right now and although he doesn’t see it as a long term career stop, the Lord is using Mark in this place and we are very grateful!<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Next comes our Jordan.<span style=""> </span>Jordan is in the army, stationed in Texas.<span style=""> </span>This year really has been one miraculous event after the next.<span style=""> </span>First, last January Jordan was stationed at an air force base in the town of San Angelo, Texas.<span style=""> </span>Leaving California and heading to Texas seemed like a huge turning point in his life – so many unknowns.<span style=""> </span>Jordan and I prayed together that God would open new doors for him, new friendships, new challenges.<span style=""> </span>Two days after arriving in San Angelo he visited a church and he called me as he walked back to his car, “Mom, I just visited the greatest church.<span style=""> </span>I can’t believe how much I enjoyed it.”<span style=""> </span>The very next week he was invited to attend a Sunday night college/career group Bible study that met in a private home.<span style=""> </span>He called me to tell me about this great family that lived in this home and about all the new friends he was making. It seemed Miraculous that God had answered our prayer so quickly.<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Over the next few months, Jordan continued to develop friendships in this group.<span style=""> </span>He often mentioned the family that hosted the Bible study, especially the daughter who was a part of the group, Georgia Anne Huckabee.<span style=""> </span>When Jordan came home for a visit in June, he was definitely a changed man: I knew the minute I saw him that this was a man in love!<span style=""> </span>In August Jordan proposed, Georgia said, “yes” and Mark and I got to be with them and Georgia’s wonderful family in San Angelo for some Texas-style celebratin’.<span style=""> </span>Their wedding is planned for June 26<sup>th</sup> here in Corona!<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Jordan’s army journey continues to be mysterious.<span style=""> </span>He was supposed to be deployed to Iraq in mid- August.<span style=""> </span>As he waited with 102 other soldiers in the deployment area, packed and ready to go Jordan waited for his name to be called.<span style=""> </span>When 100 soldiers were boarded on the plane and it was just Jordan and two officers left, he was told he wasn’t going.<span style=""> </span>So he is stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, safe from the battle field, or so we thought. On November 5 he called to tell me there was something going on at the base – they were all locked down and shots were being fired.<span style=""> </span>Right across the street from Jordan’s building an Islamic terrorist was massacring</span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >13 innocent people.<span style=""> </span>We were blessed that Jordan was not harmed and our prayers remain with the families of those who died or were terribly injured.<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Andrew, happily, graduated from Azusa Pacific University Summa Cum Laud in May along with his Best Girl of 4 years, Ashley Geiger.<span style=""> </span>We celebrated in style and then sent Andrew back to the books to study for his 4 part CPA exam.<span style=""> </span>Personally I would have rather pulled out my fingernails slowly but that’s just me. He spent the summer working as co-director of our CAT Summer Camps with his brother, Daniel.<span style=""> </span>Then in late September ADULTHOOD arrived: Andrew began his career with Deloitte and Touche, one of the big 4 accounting firms in America.<span style=""> </span>We found it miraculous that, despite the current economic climate, Andrew was able to find a wonderful job. He also found time to play the lead role in two major CAT productions this year: Benedick in Shakespeare’s <i style="">Much Ado About Nothing</i> and Robert Thorpe in the play I wrote, <i style="">Star of Wonder.</i><span style=""> </span>Contrary to any thought that I might be unreasonably prejudiced, I can say that he was fantastic in both roles.<span style=""> </span>It was wonderful to see him on the stage!<span style=""> </span>I especially enjoyed it when 12 of his Deloitte Management team came to see him in <i style="">Star of Wonder:</i> I’m certain they will NEVER view him as a typical accountant again! Would it be overkill to mention that Andrew completed his first (and according to him, "last") marathon. I think that's just weird. He refuses to be put in a box - an acting, running, accountant. Who ever heard of such a thing??? <o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Isaac is, unbelievably, a senior this year. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around that fact.<span style=""> </span>He is the greatest kid whose performing talents have continued to blossom.<span style=""> </span>This year alone he’s played roles from “Willie Wonka” to the “Genie” in <i style="">Aladdin</i> (which required specialty balding make-up and being painted totally blue, a 2 hour process every performance day for two weekends) to one of Captain Hook’s Pirates in <i style="">Peter Pan</i> to a crooked attorney in <i style="">Annie Warbucks</i> to the young “Robert Thorpe” in <i style="">Star of Wonder.<span style=""> </span></i>Miraculously, he does not have a multiple personality disorder, though it would not be all that surprising.<span style=""> </span>Since Isaac was 6 he has participated in every CAT youth productions and most of the Community Theater productions in some way:<span style=""> </span>That’s somewhere in the region of 45 major shows (along with 10 Summer Tour Groups). Talk about experience! Though CAT is the center of his universe, he has a life outside as well: Madrigal Choir at school, preparation for college (He is hoping to attend California Baptist University in Riverside), church and an exhausting self-driven exercise/weight lifting regimen. And did I mention "girls"? Yes, lots of those in Isaac's life in the healthiest way but currently no one in particular has wrapped him around her pretty little finger. I like it - for about 5 minutes, he's still mine!<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Daniel and Erin are still in school!<span style=""> </span>Erin is still teaching kindergarten and so far, miraculously, has survived the deep budget cuts the school district has been forced to make.<span style=""> </span>We JUST celebrated with Daniel the completion of his Masters in Theater in Education from Cal-State San Bernardino.<span style=""> </span>Now he is in the last lap of his education, working for his teaching credential from Cal-Baptist.<span style=""> </span>He works as a long term sub at a school in the district and we are all praying that when he has his credential, God will open up a teaching job right here.<span style=""> </span>The principals in Corona love Daniel and he is popular wherever he goes to substitute:<span style=""> </span>We are very optimistic!<span style=""> </span>Daniel directed our incredible production of <i style="">Peter Pan</i> last spring and is gearing up to direct our winter production of <i style="">Cinderella</i>.<span style=""> </span>Erin works alongside Daniel in every way – they make an incredible duo that is serving the kids of CAT and the arts community in a powerful way.<o:p></o:p></span> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;">Now for me, there’s too little room and too much to say.<span style=""> You can scroll back through these past blogs to catch up on the miraculous ways God has protected and sustained my our family and my arts organization, Christian Arts and Theatre.</span><span style=""> </span>I’m drawn more and more to write and expect to be doing that a lot in 2010: hoping to finally get my book written (whether anyone reads it or not)<span style=""> </span>My sweet dad has promised HE will read it: That’s what daddies are for!<span style=""> </span>I’m as fully wrapped up in CAT as ever – a place God has firmly planted me and, as of right now, shows no signs of releasing me.<span style=""> </span>It’s a ministry that has built me up and broken me, shoved me to my knees and lifted me up to the heights of glorious joy: Which is great fodder for a book – no coincidence there.<o:p></o:p></span></div> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;">So, dear family and friends, you’ve had a glimpse of the Monroe year – more like a nano-glimpse.<span style=""> </span>It’s hard to flesh it all out in just this short letter (“SHORT LETTER?”<span style=""> </span>I just visualized several of you snorting egg nog out your nose). <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: left;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;">I want to share the most tangible piece of hope that I can.<span style=""> </span>In the middle of a terrible time in November: Mark’s job loss, Jordan’s near miss at Fort Hood and a desperate financial crunch at CAT, my new friend, Bonnie Huckabee, shared these verses with me from a difficult time in her own life.<span style=""> </span>They have become such a constant comfort: 2 Chronicles 20: 12:<span style=""> </span>The Israelites were facing a terrible enemy and their king prayed:<span style=""> </span>“We have no power to face this <u>vast army that is attacking us</u>. <b style=""><i style="">We do not know what to do but our eyes are on you.”</i></b><span style=""> </span>Take out the words “Vast army” and insert your own issue or problem.<span style=""> </span>“I have no power over my job loss, my marriage, my health problems - whatever is burdening you and continue the verse: <b style=""><i style="">We don’t know what to do but our eyes are on you.</i></b><span style=""> </span>God is in control and he loves you.<span style=""> </span>No matter what happens.<span style=""> </span>Our job is to keep our eyes on him, trust him, give our hearts to him.<span style=""> </span>3 verses later, God answers, “Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army.<span style=""> </span>For the battle is not yours, but God’s.”<span style=""> </span>No matter what you are facing this Christmas season, put your trust in God.<span style=""> </span>If it’s unbridled joy – thank Him for that gift, if it’s anything less then look to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div> <div style="text-align: left; font-family: times new roman;"> </div> <div style="text-align: left;" class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman, Times, serif;font-size:100%;" >Merry Christmas, Dear ones.<span style=""> </span>Love, Cyndi for all the Monroes.</span></div> <div><br /></div>Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-60705626764662057452009-11-27T23:09:00.000-08:002009-11-28T01:15:21.961-08:00Things about which I'm Thankful<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ploqsKLa8Nzn8_ck5UCxet3kNOk9GLPUvq1GbkzrFdW9K4uQLTBl-kpWNindGQ97MKIPysKuRf4FK_XxiKO-13oaYf4M4f6zHjpPa8iaHPBAthXGcAOgm9e5YvWaZ06T5KSKBQkS8q8/s1600/cloud+fingers1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ploqsKLa8Nzn8_ck5UCxet3kNOk9GLPUvq1GbkzrFdW9K4uQLTBl-kpWNindGQ97MKIPysKuRf4FK_XxiKO-13oaYf4M4f6zHjpPa8iaHPBAthXGcAOgm9e5YvWaZ06T5KSKBQkS8q8/s400/cloud+fingers1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409080570608386306" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It's funny how Thanksgiving rolls around and it seems there is a nation-wide urge to suddenly become grateful or, at the very least, a willingness to publicly acknowledge "an attitude of gratitude". You know what I am talking about. Politicians and celebrities get their "God voice" on and, speaking in dulcet tones, inform us how thankful they are. Then to prove it, they spend four hours of <span style="font-style: italic;">one day </span>serving at the homeless shelter (photo op nirvana). That makes me somehow want to NOT say anything, not jump on the band wagon, so to speak. I really am overwhelmingly grateful to my Lord for his constant, pervasive generosity that I find I don't want to get mixed up with the "fair weather" thankers (does that make sense?).<br /></div>I tell people all the time how God sustains CAT <span style="font-style: italic;">every single day</span>. He really does! I was talking to one of my sister-in-laws on Thanksgiving and I was telling her how incredible it is to be in the center of a miracle. [<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">See my blog dated 11/11/09 for the story of the Miracle</span>]. The idea that God is literally moving in our midst, bending people, places and events for His good purpose RIGHT NOW is hard for some people to wrap their minds around. Sure God parted the Red Sea, caused Jonah to be swallowed up then vomited out of a great fish and brought Lazarus back from the dead but that was a Loooooong time ago. The truth that He is (or wants to be) every bit as involved in <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span> lives as He was in the lives of Moses or Jonah can just make your mind explode with that notion. God wants us to know him intimately, wants us to know he is RIGHT HERE, working all things together for His good. I think most of us are kind of sceptical about God's presence. I will bet I am not the only one who has asked (sometimes not in the nicest way) for God to just write the answer to some burning question or need clearly across the sky. Am I right? You have haven't you? "God, I don't know what to do. Tell me. Write it in BIG letters in the sky". Well sometimes he does that too.<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=3345061&id=514392539" class="UIPhotoGrid_PhotoLink clearfix"></a><div class="description">About three weeks ago I was praying about Mark's job situation. He had just been laid off from the company he had worked for for 27 years. I was, to be honest, freaking out about it. Mark and I are, for all intents and purposes, just this side of old. (Is it true that 50 is the new 30?). I was laying on my bed, staring out my window as I talked to God about Mark's lack of a job ("...and God, did you know unemployment in Riverside County is over 15%... Did you know that, God?) I looked out my window and saw this unusual cloud formation and I thought : "Those look like fingers, ....cloud fingers". I grabbed my camera and went into my back yard to snap a couple of shots. I was really thinking that it looked like a huge hand - "God's hand", I thought. It wasn't until I came back into the house and downloaded the pictures on to my computer that I noticed the other cloud in the shot. If you look closely, it appears to be an open hand releasing a bird (creatively speaking). I thought how lovely of God to create that picture for me! He hears us when we pray and, glory be, writes (or "paints") it across the sky now and then! I am so thankful for the way God works in and through my life every single day.<br />What else? Today I talked to my dad for about 20 minutes on the phone about football, his grandsons, my pies.. Just stuff that dads and daughters like to discuss. I'm so thankful that my parents are still here even though they've got glory waiting for them. My parents are heroes to me and I love that the Lord is still using them daily for his good purpose. My folks are caring for my Auntie Carol who had a devastating stroke 15 months ago. They love her so they don't think of it as anything except a joy but it's hard work and very stressful at times. Auntie Carol is the dearest person, practically an angel, but, even still, it's a lot for someone nearly 85 like my dad and in her mid-70's like my mom. I am thankful for the example they are to me as they serve the Lord at a time when some would say, "Hey Bob and Pat, you've done enough - take it easy." Nope. They are blessing us with their generosity of heart and spirit. I pray I can be just like them when I grow up.<br />So thank you, Lord for your presence and for my parents: I am one grateful girl!<br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-18960199447212268482009-11-11T16:30:00.000-08:002009-11-11T16:32:08.887-08:00She Wasn't Supposed to be There<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtTPtkvWji8q_Wg-kxeVAcZgTx6Gxx-E0ICi95RUfFPnuRVJj7F_Up3YjmzQ0GeCwqvwfRFV-Oz2joKW8HTAbP6oa6uY5apzc5d8w7ykxLcbCILAcyonPbZKpi0IaIsoBwPezBZ4FmoI/s1600-h/PB070016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtTPtkvWji8q_Wg-kxeVAcZgTx6Gxx-E0ICi95RUfFPnuRVJj7F_Up3YjmzQ0GeCwqvwfRFV-Oz2joKW8HTAbP6oa6uY5apzc5d8w7ykxLcbCILAcyonPbZKpi0IaIsoBwPezBZ4FmoI/s320/PB070016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403005503228690818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was a simple invitation to speak at a Christmas Tea at a church in Prescott, Arizona. Over the years I have given my Christmas talk dozens of times and I thought it would be fun to go to Prescott. I'd drive to Phoenix, pick up my mom and then the two of us would zip up to the mountains for the weekend. What a delight! Of course, when the invitation to speak came 6 months ago, I didn't know then that it would opening weekend of our fall youth production of <span style="font-style: italic;">Annie Warbucks</span>. In fact, there was a lot I didn't know would be happening in my life and, if I had, I probably would have turned the invitation down. Turns out, that would have been a terrible mistake. You see, I was supposed to be there.<br />So Friday morning, November 6th, I hopped into my rental car, made the drive to Phoenix and picked up my mom. It was already 4 o'clock AZ time when I got there and we still had the 2 hour drive north up White Spar mountain. I was a bit concerned because I hadn't spent enough time reviewing my talk for the next day. By the time we arrived at our hosts' home, had dinner with them and got settled it was after 9:00 PM and I needed some serious prep time for the 9:30 AM event.<br />One of the things I really love about my Christmas talk is that its funny and lighthearted. I get to sing and do some acting, share some funny memories. It's a blessing! As I was reading through the end of my talk, thinking about sharing God's plan of salvation, the Lord clearly spoke to me. Yes, he clearly spoke. He told me he wanted me to be more transparent with the women - share what is happening in my own life.<br />"No", I said (not out loud). "I don't want to - this is a fun, carefree day, I don't want to make it about me or bring them down" Besides, I have this patented talk I have been giving for years with a "tied up neat as a bow" salvation call and prayer at the end.<br />But I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about that voice saying, "Be transparent".<br />You see, three weeks earlier, as I was preparing to head over to my office, my husband Mark, walked in the door. It was 9:00 in the morning.<br />"What are you doing home?", I asked.<br />"It's over", he calmly replied.<br />Clueless, I asked, "What's over?"<br />"My job. I've been laid off", he said.<br />After 27 years at the same company, Mark was laid off. And, even though Mark had been warning me of this possibility, I never really believed it would happen. "Devastating" was the first word that popped into my mind.<br />A week later, my office manager and I were looking at the completely dismal state of our current finances at CAT, my non-profit theater arts education program. This is not a good time to be non-profit, especially a Christian Theater Arts non-profit. Over the past 11 years, though, I have seen again and again the Lord work in marvelous ways to sustain CAT. It has been the greatest blessing to see his hand in everything we do. So it is embarrassing to admit that I was feeling panicked. With only a few days until the next payroll was due and all the expenses surrounding our current production, the word "bleak" leaped into my mind.<br />Devastating? Bleak? Those are the words I thought of first when faced with these truly difficult situations. And yet, honestly why? I hate it that its so typical of me to think that, although God has helped CAT so many times, in so many amazing ways, I am sure he MUST be thinking, "What? Again? Can't you CAT people take care of yourselves for once? There are LOTS of other things that need my immediate attention".<br />Then, this past Thursday, November 5th, I got a call from my son, Jordan, who is in the army. It was about 11:45 AM - very unusual for him to call in the middle of the day.<br />"Mom, there's something going on here at the base, something about a shooter. I'm fine, I'm locked down in my office. Could you check the news and let me know what's going on?" As my son was hunkered down in the Battalion headquarters building, right across the street an Islamic terrorist was gunning down 13 innocent soldiers and wounding 30 others. "Terrifying" seems like a good word.<br />I didn't want to be transparent about these things, this lack of trust in God. I wanted to be fun and perky and give these women a really enjoyable celebration of the season. But God reminded me something that happened later on Thursday night after the massacre at Ft. Hood.<br />I was talking to my friend, Bonnie Huckabee. Bonnie's daughter, Georgia, will soon be my new Daughter-in-law when she and Jordan marry this next June. I was sharing with Bonnie the weight of all the things going on in my life and she shared the greatest verse with me - a verse that had brought comfort when her family was facing some particularly tough times.<br />2 Chronicles 2:12 (not what you were expecting, right?) The situation in this chapter of 2 Chronicles is one where the Israelites, led by King Jehoshaphat, are facing a vast army bent on destroying them. Vs: 12b says: " <span style="font-style: italic;">We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you"</span>. I love that - it really hit home with me because that is exactly how I felt.<br />So here I was, late Friday night, trying to get to sleep but unable to because I knew God wanted me to take the risk of being transparent with the ladies at the event the next day. I got back up, rewrote the entire ending of my talk and then drifted off.<br />On Saturday my mom and I drove to the church - it was beautiful. The unusual aspect of the event was that I was to speak first then we'd all troop down to the fellowship center for lunch and the rest of the festivities.<br />I wound my way through my presentation and when I got to the end I took that God-inspired detour. I told the ladies that they might be thinking that since I was the "speaker" it must mean my life was perfect... that I didn't really know how tough things could be.<br />Here's my reality I said.... then I shared about Mark losing his job, Jordan's brush with terror and the current state of finances for CAT, the fact that I did not know how I was going to make payroll in 8 days and I did not know what to do.. but my eyes were on the Lord (citing 2 Chronicles).<br />I went on to share how the only gift that really mattered this season was Jesus and his salvation. "Do you really know how much our God loves us?", I asked. Ephesians 1: 7 & 8 tell us that "<span style="font-style: italic;">in Christ Jesus, we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins in accordance with the riches of God's Grace that he LAVISHED on us with all wisdom and understanding"</span>. He has lavished us with his grace. Astounding truth. I may not know what to do but my eyes are on God who has Lavished his grace on me with all wisdom and understanding.<br />It was so freeing to share it all with these women. I mean, I was <span style="font-style: italic;">preachin' it</span> and loving every minute because I was being obedient to my Lord - even if it was hard to be that transparent.<br />After I finished I had a wonderful opportunity to give and receive lots of encouragement. I knew I had made the right decision to make the trip - I knew I was supposed to be there.<br />As we all settled down for lunch, a beautiful young woman slipped into the seat next to me and asked me if she could speak to me privately outside. I had never seen her before and, since I was not wearing my glasses, I could only read her first name on her name tag: Angela.<br />We stepped outside into the hallway. I think the first thing she said to me was, "I was not supposed to be here."<br />She went on to explain that she hadn't bought a ticket to the sold-out event but the pastor's wife had called her that morning and said a ticket had been turned back in - would she like to come?<br />She went on to ask me a couple of questions about CAT and then she said, "I think I can help you".<br />I promptly burst into tears.<br />Angela explained that she and her husband had inherited some money. They had purposed to set aside a portion as a tithe and were waiting for the Lord to let them know what to do with the money.<br />Again Angela said to me, "<span style="font-style: italic;">I was not even supposed to be here</span> but when I heard you share about your non-profit, the Lord spoke to me and said - this is it,this is who I want you to help."<br />I couldn't believe my ears. I thought I was going to faint. Then Angela asked, "How much money do you need?"<br />That brought me up straight. What a difficult question. Do I tell her the true amount? Will that make her think - WOW! If they need that much, I don't want to waste my money"? Do I make up a number? Do I tell her a low amount that I am pretty sure she will be able to give? I literally closed my eyes, prayed for God to say the number and the words, "$15,000" came out of my mouth. Angela's eyes flew open very wide and she actually took a step back. I grabbed her arm and with every ounce of true sincerity I had, I told her that ANY amount would be amazing and I would be very, very grateful.<br />Angela told me she needed to talk to her husband and she would get back to me.<br />I returned to the luncheon and didn't say a word to anyone. My mind was reeling at first and then, you know what, I just let it go. I relaxed and enjoyed myself.<br />About the time the dessert was being served, I glanced up and there was Angela, standing in the doorway back out to the hall way. She was gesturing to me to come and join her.<br />She started out, "Well, I called my husband." Let me say, I didn't realize she meant she was going to call her husband RIGHT THEN. She went on, "He was in complete agreement with me"<br />Then Angela reached out her hand and laid a check for $15,000 in my hand. $15,000. I didn't even know her last name. She knew virtually nothing about CAT. As I was stammering and blabbering "thank you" in every way I could, she said that sentence again, "I wasn't even supposed to be here."<br />But she was. She followed God's call to come to a Christmas Tea for no apparent reason.<br />I thought I shouldn't have come either. But I did. And I followed God's call to be obedient by sharing my own struggles with those women.<br />I asked Angela's permission to share with the ladies what had just transpired and she reluctantly agreed. As I was called up to close the event in a word of prayer, I asked the women to give me just three more minutes, to (as Paul Harvey would say) tell them the"rest of the story".<br />There was great cheering and applause as I shared how Angela's gift met all our needs for days ahead. Just enough.<br />As you read this, I hope you see how clearly impossible this whole story is. That only a Loving God could orchestrate it, knowing the outcome would be wholly glorifying to him. There is NO way this could have happened outside of God.<br />I really pray that you are touched in some way by this story: If you are in a dark place, trust that God is walking through it with you. If you don't know him, Oh, more than anything I hope this will entice you to seek a personal relationship with him. He wants to LAVISH you with the riches of his Grace with all wisdom and understanding.<br />I'm so glad I found myself in that place with Angela. We were both supposed to be there.<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Post Script:</span> Today, November 11, 2009, my husband Mark began his new full-time job with a company here in Corona. God is faithful beyond all measure!Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-45718700898951224622009-10-13T11:37:00.000-07:002009-10-13T17:44:02.095-07:00Waking Up In Heaven<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5HP4cDYJdIdB3M_WmslIkaTK_NZ6kUpFveg13uxMzAxdtezdMKTDY_ThIjfxPyB75j_4yEVb2qwJBpAB3cJTuVq_fL03ZK8OcTZ62jiTNAka8PWJUA4yZTnQjzBraH9NvhRKLIRpDLs/s1600-h/Frank.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 151px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5HP4cDYJdIdB3M_WmslIkaTK_NZ6kUpFveg13uxMzAxdtezdMKTDY_ThIjfxPyB75j_4yEVb2qwJBpAB3cJTuVq_fL03ZK8OcTZ62jiTNAka8PWJUA4yZTnQjzBraH9NvhRKLIRpDLs/s320/Frank.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392210153570534658" border="0" /></a><br />This has been a week of unexpected sorrow and yet of joyful rememberance. I lost two friends this week. Two men who each made an amazing mark on the earth while they were here. Two men who seemingly left us much too soon, for by my measure they were still young.<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Frank Hollick was absolutely the life of any party. A big guy with twinkling eyes and a quick, booming laugh, Frank was loud and fun and absolutely everyone's "go to" guy if you needed <span style="font-style: italic;">anything</span> done. I met Frank and Vicki Hollick when my son Jordan was in kindergarten with their oldest son, Greg. Jordan and Greg were friends from kindergarten all the way until they graduated from Santiago High School in 2003. It was Greg's younger brother, Ian, who really connected Frank with our family because Jordan and Ian played baseball together from the time Jordan was in the 8th grade through his high school graduation. Frank coached, along with my husband Mark, Jordan's travel ball team. Man, Frank loved baseball just like he loved everything else in his life. "Moderation" was not in his vocabulary when it came to doing whatever it took to help his kids succeed. And by, "His Kids", I mean anyone who was on the team whether their last name was "Hollick" or not. Frank was responsible for getting the brick team room built at Santiago for the varsity baseball team, he worked the booster events whether Bingo or cooking burgers at a tournament - always the first one there and the last one to leave. He loved to tease me about doing a musical together. Apparently Frank played "Frank Butler" from <span style="font-style: italic;">Annie Get Your Gun</span> when he was in high school and he always told me he was going to audition for a role in one of our community theater productions so we could perform together. His heart was enormous. He loved his wife, Vicki and his incredible children: Greg, Ian, Natalie and Adam. He loved his work buddies and employees, his neighbors, his church community and anyone and everyone who crossed his path, especially in regards to his kids' wide ranging activities: Greg's soccer, Ian's baseball, Adam's football, Natalie's athletics and choirs. I can't figure out when he ever slept. He was like a superhero.<br />On Thursday, October 1, Frank was up at their cabin in Crestline, doing some renovations. Frank had worked in construction for his whole adult life. I can't begin to guess how many times in his life he had scaled a ladder and stood on a scaffolding. But on this day, something happened and Frank fell. He was airlifted by a Mercy helicopter to the hospital but there was nothing they could do. Frank was gone.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsh-2ESqHJNWMjIai66OTIMQMubYkyZuY1rGuenBfoXvOq2fwJSzxBlL8NlMfyXFA8WMUVmGPmyy-a82YVNmA7ZYMRZ4jAVCi3fivV2r_vKQa_uAgHHWjbBn6NuWojGZMbL_xBpk4wLQ/s1600-h/John+and+Clarice.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 88px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYsh-2ESqHJNWMjIai66OTIMQMubYkyZuY1rGuenBfoXvOq2fwJSzxBlL8NlMfyXFA8WMUVmGPmyy-a82YVNmA7ZYMRZ4jAVCi3fivV2r_vKQa_uAgHHWjbBn6NuWojGZMbL_xBpk4wLQ/s320/John+and+Clarice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392203733298721442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I met John Aeby in 1975 during the short time I lived in Eugene, Oregon. John's wife, Clarice, and I became fast friends and to this day, I count her as one of my dearest, sweetest friends. John was the most gentle, kind man I could ever imagine. Always soft spoken, he seemed at first desperately shy but as I grew to know and love him, I realized he was simply at peace with himself and didn't need to ever be the center of things. A deep thinker, I could ask John some ponderous question and I can still see him cock his head to one side, allow a smile to light up his eyes and then he would give the best possible answer. I took devilish delight in trying to make John "crack up". Really. I viewed it as a personal victory if I could make John laugh long and loudly. I was often successful.<br />For the past 30 years John has worked at Holt International, the largest adoption agency in the world. According to their website, Holt has helped 40,000 children from all over the world find loving homes. When I talked with Clarice just last night she told me that John's "fingerprints" are still all over the place: He wrote and edited their monthly magazine, took the photographs and the videos that are used in all of their outreach and publicity materials. John traveled all over the world with families to help smooth the path of placement for those families. He loved his work.<br />John also loved being outside, riding his bicylce. He really loved riding his bicycle. It took him to beautiful, quiet places in Oregon where he could sit in peace, soaking in the creation around him. Even more than his work and riding his bike, John loved Clarice and their three children: Erica, Ryan and Renee. When Ryan and Renee each got married and started their own families, John's heart expanded to his "in law" kids and his four grandkids. But even more than his wife and children, his job and his bike, John Aeby loved his Lord and Savior. Everything John did was motivated by his deep love for Jesus.<br />On Saturday, September 12 John set off on a nearly 500 mile, week long bike ride. It is an annual event called Cycle Oregon and there were 2,000 riders participating. Clarice told me that John had participated several other times and really loved this adventure. This year's ride started in Medford in southern Oregon and actually travelled down into Northern California and back. On the 6th day of the ride, September 17th, the bikers were given the option to spend the day lounging in Grants Pass in their campground or taking a short 43 mile ride. One of John's riding companions peeked into John's tent at 6:00 AM and saw he was sleeping. At 6:00 PM that night, the companions realized John had never come out of his tent the entire day. It was then they discovered that John had died in his sleep sometime during the night.<br />Frank was only 52 and John was only 59. On the surface, those two men could not have been any different if they had tried: Frank was loud and boisterous and John was soft spoken and tender. But when you look deeper, you find two men who were very much the same: They both had incredible servant hearts: either of them would do anything to help a friend or help a stranger. They had incredible work ethic: doing everything to the best of their abilities and then a bit more. They were devoted husbands and adored their wives. They were incredible fathers who raised remarkable children. All seven of these children call themsleves blessed to be the child of Frank Hollick and John Aeby. They were loved by their peers.<br />At Frank's memorial service, Greg, Frank's oldest child, spoke so beautifully and he brought up the question everyone was asking, "Why?" Why would God take Frank now, so suddenly and without any warning? The same could be asked for John. These were 2 <span style="font-style: italic;">REALLY</span> good men in their best years. Psalms 139: 16 tells us that God knew us before we were even formed in our mothers' womb and that, before we were even born, God had ordained the number of days we would live. So while we may never know this side of heaven the answer to the "why", we <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> know that God knew. God knew it was time for these men to come home. He ordained the time and place. He didn't ask our permission (not one of us would have said, "Ok, God, sure thing"... or at lease that would not have been our initial gut response). But one of the last lessons we can learn from John and from Frank is this: Be ready. We don't know when our numbered days will end. Set your heart right before God. If you have never asked Him into your heart to be your Lord and Savior, don't wait another day, another minute. Star living your life in a way that honors God. Beside the fact that you will experience incredible joy and satisfaction for the rest of your life as His child, you just don't know if you are going to go to bed and wake up in Heaven.<br /></span></span>Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-6282986304303770272009-09-06T23:34:00.000-07:002009-09-11T18:43:12.752-07:00Courage of a Sort<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E9o40eFjOilQ45BghQTFppTesZUBX6LfBdtu2jISI6BT9UNbFA5cjiS3hR8WuJBFbxaD7Wx0QwpeVPswDESXlio6wzSB4JOLI7L_gpUwkha4i7lAy0RfzI7y1mTMOGaJKFxUcUDQkUk/s1600-h/August+4th+camp+08+2+041.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 171px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E9o40eFjOilQ45BghQTFppTesZUBX6LfBdtu2jISI6BT9UNbFA5cjiS3hR8WuJBFbxaD7Wx0QwpeVPswDESXlio6wzSB4JOLI7L_gpUwkha4i7lAy0RfzI7y1mTMOGaJKFxUcUDQkUk/s320/August+4th+camp+08+2+041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380368890349190034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There are a many different examples of courage. Obvious ones like a fireman rushing into a burning building to save the inhabitants or a soldier protecting his comrades by putting himself in harm's way. The word "courage" evokes the picture of the young Chinese man standing in front of the tank in Tienanmen Square. I picture a schoolboy standing up to bullies or a young woman holding true to her beliefs against the onslaught of a cynical college professor. Wearing spandex.<br />I heard the absolutely best definition of courage by an elder at my church. He said, "Courage is the perfect balance between fear and recklessness". Think about it. We are apt to say that the opposite of fear is courage. But to not have any fear would encourage us to remove all the inhibitors and that could easily lead to recklessness - like those insane "extreme sport" guys who do quadruple flips on a motorcycle going 65 miles an hour and then, after the inevitable crash, looking slightly bemused, they pop their bones back into place and go again. Reck-less (dare I say, idiotic).<br />No, courage is doing a thing when you are truly afraid along with a measure of common sense thrown in to somehow keep you grounded and convinced that it's going to be all right.<br />I witnessed courage of a completely different sort this past weekend at our CAT auditions for our fall production of <span style="font-style: italic;">Annie Warbucks</span>. "Auditions": the very word can cause your throat to tighten up, your heart to beat so fast you are certain it's going to push through your chest and bounce away and your knees to wobble to the point that you are certain that your legs will no longer hold you up and you are going to dissolve into a puddle of blubbering plasma. Not a pretty picture. For some people, just the thought of getting up in front a room full of strangers (or even friends) and singing is enough to induce a hurling response that would match the sort incurred when consuming a tuna and mayo sandwich that was left in the sun for 3 hours. (That's not a pretty picture either).<br />Last Friday night I watched 80 + kids get up in front of an auditioning panel and a roomful of parents and friends to sing their hearts out. They ran the gamut from laughable (with our responses hidden with monumental efforts behind a mask of tight smiles) to astonishment ("How did that incredible voice come out of that tiny body?") to pure mesmerizing joy: WOW!<br />Watching one child after the next pop out of their chair to stand in front of the panel of artistic team members to say, "My name is Susie Smith, I am 9 years old and I'll be singing, 'Part of Your World" today" or "Hi, my name is Jack Jones and I'm 8, I'm gonna sing 'Zippity Do Dah'" was amazing. Now I have been doing this for over 10 years and I can guarantee that it still holds tremendous entertainment value, palpable suspense and mystery, and pure, unadulterated courage. I love it. <br />It makes me wonder, though. At what point do kids lose that courage? I hear the parents every time talk about how they could no more get up and sing like their child just did than do brain surgery. Why? Why is it that an 8 year can screw up their courage and sing but that child's parent would rather pull out their fingernails than do the same?<br />It's one of those mysteries but I suspect that CAT is helping those kids, one audition at a time prepare themselves for adulthood. It's one of the intangibles that come with performance arts education. When these kids grow up and are confronted with a Job interview, a sales presentation, the management conference, they will, I fully believe, jump out of their seats and say, "Hi, my name is Susie Smith and here's what I have to offer your company...."Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4287405376696511478.post-68430844803869163072009-09-02T08:09:00.000-07:002009-09-02T23:19:31.135-07:00My Last First Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvx_iSdwubbbghvKJMVGkL9BzR_3F1ay8PAZfyOssrnMd58uFV6JRippd-nWN3qbqQtXu_PybEyXfs1dLEgjRunz4N4OOVrXP6Rh2nu7QQgpe9CMyQLhrnvYNZiJLywYIbSLtYtqdcgs/s1600-h/Isaac+first+day+Kinder.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" 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mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" >Earlier this week Isaac, my youngest, went back to school. He is a senior in high school this year. I realized as I dropped him off that this was the last "first day" of school I would experience with my boys. Whoa. My last first day. Now this doesn't seem even remotely possible especially with Isaac. You see, Isaac was born 2 weeks before his next oldest brother, Andrew, started kindergarten. When he was born and I was looking at five more years with another little guy at home before he even started school, I remember asking myself, "When am I ever going to experience going to the bathroom without someone walking in on me again?" But those five years flew by and suddenly<u4:p></u4:p> the day arrived for Isaac to start kindergarten. It was a day I will never forget but not for the reason you might expect. <u4:p></u4:p><u5:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u5:p>I took Isaac to his classroom at Lincoln Alternative School just like all three of his older brothers and we walked around until we found his <u4:p></u4:p>desk: A little gingerbread man name tag was waiting for him along with a new box of crayons, a pair of blunt-tipped scissors and 2 new, unsharpened pencils. Once Isaac <u4:p></u4:p><u5:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u5:p>was settled into his spot I started looking at the other children and parents in the room. The little girl right next to Isaac had her big sister with her and the sister was tenderly and sweetly consoling the child, encouraging her that everything would be fine and she<u4:p></u4:p> will truly love kindergarten. I turned to away to glance at the scene around me. The same "happy", "mad" and "sad" teddy bear faces decorating the walls, the animal alphabet pictures all across the top of the chalkboard, the storybook shelf and paint easels all neatly set up just like like it was when Isaac's brothers were kindergarteners there. In the middle of the room there were lots of video cameras recording and cameras snapping. A few children were sort of whimpering, some were actually sobbing and others were already launched into high gear complete with shrieks and giggles. There were lots of even younger children and babies bumping into adult legs and chairs which was then followed by their immediate, inconsolable tears -in other words, it was mass hysteria. About this time I noticed how peculiar it was that so many of the children had been brought to school on this momentous first day by their older siblings: teenage brothers and sisters instead of their parents. I was really struck by this odd turn of events. </span><u5:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u5:p><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u4:p></u4:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" >Even though this was my fourth child to begin kindergarten, I wouldn't have missed this day for anything. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u4:p></u4:p><u5:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u5:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" >Slowly the light of reality dawned on my thick skull and I began to feel really weird: like all the air was being sucked out of my lungs. All these youngsters I'd mistaken as older siblings were these kids' parents!!! I was still reeling from the shock of this realization when a girl came over to me (1 swear she could not have been old enough to vote) and introduced herself, "Hi, I'm Tiffany and this is, like, my daughter, Haley. Are you, like, her teacher?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u4:p></u4:p><u5:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u5:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" >I pointed to Isaac and said, "Oh no, this is my son and he is starting school today too." <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><u4:p></u4:p><u5:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u5:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" face="georgia"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" >The look on Tiffany's face was priceless. Talk about the turn of the knife. I could just hear her saying to herself, "Poor child, he probably will be visiting his mother in the convalescent home about the time he starts college."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;">Now here it is, 13 years later and Isaac has reached his last year of high school (Wouldn't Tiffany be surprised that I'm actually still alive?) and I am filled this incredible bittersweetness that mothers have experienced for centuries. That moment of reality that this part of my life is quickly drawing to a close. I still make Isaac's school lunch every day and put it in a brown sack with his name and a smiley face drawn on it. When I was making four lunches every day, and helping with four different kinds of school projects (You know, a diarama, book report, science project and spelling test all due on the same day) I remember thinking, "I am not going to survive this". Not only did I survive, I thrived in it. I loved it.
<br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I know there are still many, many "firsts' waiting for me in my life. I'm just getting started in some regards. Oh, but the "lasts" are hard to take. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"> There will be many of these this year with Isaac. So I'm going to acknowledge them and celebrate them and then move on, looking for all those new "firsts" that I just know God has waiting for me to experience.</span>
<br /><span style="font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <u4:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u4:p>Cyndi Monroehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11434909319567886518noreply@blogger.com3