Off we go

Here's four generations of my relatives. I got a chance to see my Maternal Gramma, my Aunt, My cousin and her husband and son.
We all have kind of round baby faces on that side of my family. It's really weird to think of my aunt as a gramma, but she is very astoundlingly radiantly happy to be with her tiny grandson. She's also really pretty.
It was a valuable way to spend my last full day in-country. If all goes well, in about 30 hours I'll be all set back in my apartment, sleeping.

The ABA POTUS ball. I just couldn't take it any more.

I have thought so many things about the very existence of such a thing as this, and I decided I really better not say any of it. But anyway, here it is.

Continuing to think about freewill

Here, you go, standing on two planks over stairs to sand some construction mud. The mud has to be sanded so more mud can go on and eventually some paint can go on.

It's how I think about the Theophostic prayer system, that unhealthy assumptions have to get sanded off before truth can really set a person free.

Here's something I was reading about today: that you first have to believe and submit. You have to believe that He can do it, and then you have to be willing to no longer suffer.

That's all for now

Boundaries with Kids and the Shocking truth about myself

So I'm sadly lacking in maturity, so I see as I read this book, which I so finished reading today. Then I spent a while processing. What was possibly most surprising is how well I'm taking it. There's none of the defensive bitterness I felt necessary to rail against Boundaries, original flavor. Even as I read the description of a passive child as not growing because they don't push boundaries, nice kids though hard to get to know, lacking initiative and easily influenced or controlled by more agressive children, plus the passivity expressed as procrastination, ignoring, lack of initiative, living in a fantasy world and passive defense--I can see how true it rings, and I'm not upset. I probably should be upset, maybe. I should have thoughts like, "Oh, no. I thought I was being such a good, mature kid by not fighting and by being sweet, passive and submissive all the time. I didn't know that rebellion and pushiness was necessary for real maturity. Oh crap. How depressing." I think that but I don't feel sad. Maybe it's because I was already becoming more aware of my immaturity already and looking to grace to grow past it. Maybe I'm a post-griever.

There's more about immaturity, like the part that says to assess a child's maturity by how they can make and keep goo friends, how they can respond in protest, how they respond to failure and how well they can trust and be honest.

essentially, I read the entire book about parenting--with some intenrion to apply it to relationships I have with actually children--but mostly in view of what is wrong with me, and also what is going on with my mother. In short, that as a foolish child, as all children are foolish, I was charged with care for another foolish child, and though I had to have a lot of skills to do it, I wasn't actually more mature in a lot of important ways, and I ended up behind in a lot of development.

Anyway, even all of that thought, very depressing thought, potentially, didn't make me feel sad. It was almost an extremely hopeful relief to have a diagnosis to then take to the healer and start on the path to real and healthy change.

Reality and Loving People

There is really high value in conversations with the right people.

Sometimes I'm aware of things I really want to tell people, and I have the feeling that once I tell them, the knowlegde will no longer be a burden. Something like that happened today.

When I talk to the people I miss, the people from where I'm from, it gets easier to remember a lot of things, and a lot easier to live in reality. I find it is often really easy to create another world than it is to live in the one I have, with the people I have. It's easy to have imagine life being different that it is to live it as it is.

For some reason, I'm seeing this clearly, that I already knew or had some notion of. The only difference is that I'm not as afraid of people and the mess of knowing them. And I have found it's so much easier to know them and to be thankful for them and to love them. I'm not entirely sure what's different, but I do know there's a power beyond me at work. (we know who that is.) And I'm thankful change is possible, even if it's hard to believe it's happening.

Dude, I'm watching the superbowl?

Me? The hater of all sports, who fantasizes about venomously condemning them all at the height of idolotry in a sickly idolatrous nation in a handbasket of idols? Who points to this sport as the destroyer of families and education? Who denounces it as a horrendous misuse of money, fame and time?

How did this happen? Not only was a watching, I was caring who won. Actually I do care. It started with my American host family. Then there was a segment about a really humble and sweet coach, and then a video--added in the middle of this morning, Sunday morning--about a faith-focused defense dude. And I was thinking, "Wow. they're not just the team my friends like, they're actually good people."

But beyond that, there was the fact that the pregame was all about rallying the country, with some serious patriotism tags, and making huge business of the fact that both teams are heavy with blue-collar industries and hard-working-nationbuilder symbolism.

That's what I get for thinking my nation of residence had a monopoly on overbearing patriotism.

Well, this has been called the world's biggest sporting event. I'd have to qualify, at least is is among the 5% of the world that has heard of it.

I just couldn't resist

Blogger is the ideal outlet for former journalists who can't stop thinking about anything and everything and its implications. I have about 9 days until I again give up access to blogger. Whatever.

The event of the day was last night, when, not even a full 24 hours after the previous adventure had begun, more happened. Well, my glasses broke. And I don't have another pair in this country.

So, all of the things I really like doing involve being able to see.

Well, except one thing. There is a gift the blind can have besides expensive massage. Remember what it is?