Leaps

Yesterday my young son asked me if his (autumn) birthday would be on the same day this year. I asked why he thought it wouldn't be. He informed me that since there is an extra day in February, he thought his birthday would fall one day later. He was relieved to find that's not true. Birthdays are important, you know?

I also heard someone say their boss ought to pay them for an extra day this month, but in reality this is still one of the shortest work-months of the year, so I doubt that would fly.

I other news, yesterday I finished The Shack. It was a beautiful spring-like day, and instead of sitting inside with my laptop, I sat in the sun on the front porch reading and watching all the kiddoes run around on the first day this year warm enough for shorts and tank tops, if only for a few hours this afternoon.

Not being a gifted book reviewer, you will have to settle for my emotional reaction. This book said precisely what I've been feeling for the last three or so years, validating my Spirit and overwhelming me. Some reviewers have said it's a little clunky, and I concede that, at times, it is. However, the message is far too meaningful to me to care, even in the least. This book has changed me. I can't even tell you the ways in which it was relevant to me, providing me hope and rest. I haven't cried that much in a long time.

I think, in part, this book takes on a new depth and meaning for me because of where I live. I have been to many of the places the author mentions, and live in the same town, likely a few small miles from the him, so the landscape is very real to me. There is something more tangible about a book whose setting is somewhere you've actually been.

Anyhow, I realize it's not the book which has changed me, it was only a catalyst which opened up my heart to really hear what Papa has been trying to say to me. These years of holding on to pain, grief, anger and bitterness have consumed me, and very nearly shut my spirit down entirely. I haven't wanted to be close to God, because practical experience has shown me that is only a place of hurt. Yes, intellectually, I have known that it is people who have hurt me, but try to tell that to me and I will say - "I was following after God with my heart and soul, and look what happened!" Maybe if I keep myself at arm's length, I can protect my heart.

I was going through all my previous posts the other day, looking for material for a project I'm working on. In doing so, I realized back last fall I had begun to tell you my story, the truth of the matter, but got distracted and never finished. I think also because I didn't know how to tell it, since writing under my real name, in a way that wouldn't be hurtful to the other people involved, were they ever to happen to read here. Maybe I will pick that up again, now. Maybe. For it provides context to my journey.

So, when I walked away from church, I carefully turned off the spigot of God. Not that I ceased loving Him or wanting Him, but I no longer desired the closeness I had developed, for it had only led to misery. The fountain which had been God's spirit dried up, and I was more than happy for that to be.

Lately there have been several things coming up where I know I will need that fountain, the running and living water, back in my life. I don't know how I will get there, it will be a journey that I cannot map out at this time. But I know the timing of this book, which I have been intending to read for months but only just now got to, was orchestrated for me on purpose. This booked began the process of re-awakening in me, softly, almost subversively, all the things which have lain dormant for these last years.

It's a leap of faith, for me, to move forward in this new place. I can only vow to try to let go of the past and embrace the future, and learn that pain, even when allowed by God, is not caused by God. It will be a rocky road, full of fits and starts, but maybe, hopefully, a year from now, I will look back and see how far I've come.

What I Like About You

Jim Lehmer, at Lord I Believe, Help My Unbelief, has tagged me for a question:

"If you attend a church (traditional, house church, pub church, whatever), name three things you genuinely like about it. If you don't have a place you call "church" right now then name three things that if you see them in a gathering will tell you that you've finally found what you're looking for."

Well, technically I have been un-churched for three years now, but back last fall, I began sometimes attending the church my friends Pam and Donna go to, The Bridge. I know my journey back into church will be a long one, and I have no intention of rushing it. However, I have thoroughly enjoyed my times at The Bridge and I relish the opportunity to run a shameless plug for my friends there.

So what do I like about The Bridge? These are things which got me to set foot in a church again when I vowed I never would...so that's saying a lot.

1) Anyone is welcome. This is not an arbitrary "anyone". This is not an "as long as you're dressed properly" anyone. This is not an "as long as you're sober" anyone. This is a true anyone. Doesn't matter who you are, how you look or smell, what your lifestyle is, you are welcome there. It is not always easy, but it is practiced nonetheless.

2) Their goal and dream is to infect the world around them. They reach out to the community in tangible ways. Each Sunday they provide donated groceries to anyone who needs it. In the church I left behind, assistance with food meant paperwork and checks and balances, in order to ensure no one "abused" the system. At The Bridge, there are no qualifications to the food; it is given freely. They also desire to eventually occupy a space where they can have a real day-to-day presence in community; the space they use right now is only have available to them on Sunday's. They would love to have a coffee shop or some other space where they can be so present. Please pray this for them. There are many other ways; these are the two which immediately come to mind. It's a subversive evangelism, they don't seem to seek to make converts, but to create lovers.

3) They practice love. Not a perfect love, but love nonetheless. We are all human and our hurts and prejudices will get get the better of any of us. But there is a love there that I haven't ever seen in a church. It is a love that says "I will not judge you; instead I will care for you." This is the love I believe Jesus intended us to learn. Maybe I'm being overly simplistic here, but this love is something I can't help being aware of when I'm with these people.

I still do not know what my future holds; as I've said before, I'm learning to live my spiritual life without a map or plan...only following where the tracks ahead of me lead. But I am growing to love The Bridge and am enjoying the time, whether permanent or transitory, I am spending there.

I decided not to specifically ask anyone to participate, because this is pretty personal to a lot of us, but if you want to write on this subject, please do. If you go to church, please list three things you like about it. If you don't presently attend church, list three things you would look for in one. If you have no intention of ever attending a church, list what you look for in or appreciate about faith-based-fellowship/gatherings, however that might look in your life.

If you participate, please link back here and to Jim.

Eclipsed

6:00 PM, Wednesday February 20, 2008

"Hey, boys, come look!"

"What, mom!? I want to beat this level", from son #2.

"As soon as there is a commercial", from son #1.

"Just come here!"

"In a minute!"

"BOYS!"

"Mom!" Sighs, stomping feet. "Where are you?"

"Come out on the deck!" Stomp, stomp.

"What?"

"Look at the moon."

"What about it?"

"Didn't you guys hear about the eclipse at school?"

"What's an eclipse?" So much for our tax dollars at work.

"It's when the earth casts a shadow on the moon for a short period of time. Can't you see it?"

"The moon always looks like that."

Sigh. "No, it doesn't. This is special. I'm going to go get the telescope."

Tromp downstairs. Lug the huge Jason out of the basement, out onto the deck. Tromp back downstairs. Lug the huge box upstairs so I can find the right lens. Back out on the deck. Fumble with the tripod for about 15 minutes. Swear.

"Do you boys know how to set this up?"

"Huh?"

Finally get the tripod stable.

"Where are the lenses? Ok found them. How do you open these things?"

"I can do it mom."

"No you can't. If I can't figure it out, why do you think you can figure it out?"

"Because I'm smart."

"Ok, let's see you try."

Tug, fumble, twist, groan, sigh.

"Mom, do you know how to open this?"

"I thought YOU said you could open it."

"Well I can't."

"Where the heck is your dad, he's the only one who knows anything about this thing. I'll call Dad on his cell."

"Honey, how do you work this thing?"

"What thing?"

"The telescope. The kids and I have been messing with it for half an hour".

"You have to find the right lens."

"How do you know which is the right one? How do you open the lens cases? And where do you put it?"

Sigh. "I'll be home in five minutes."

Dad gets home. Finds all three of us on the deck yelling at each other, because each one thinks he/she knows how to fix it.

"Here you need the 15mm lens."

"Ok, then what? I can see the moon in the small viewfinder, but can't find it in the big one."

"That's normal."

The three of us (son #2 has gone back to his video game by now) fumble with it for another half-hour.

"Ok, there, I see it. Now if I can only get it to focus." Famous last words.

"Dang it, it won't focus."

"Let me try, Dad."

"I don't think you will be able to get it if I can't."

Son # 1 goes to pout. "You won't even let me TRY. I'm no good at anything." Slams the door.

Mom sighs. This is not going like I planned.

Dad is still trying to get the thing to focus. He gives up.

"I'm going to go eat dinner."

Son #1 comes back. "Can I try now?"

"Yes, you can try."

Five minutes later..."I give up. It won't focus."

"I know. I'm going inside."

And we all proceed to go about our evening.

Fast forward to 10:30 PM.

Son #1 from his bed, "Hey mom, we left the telescope out on the deck."

"Yeah, we did. I'll get it in the morning."

"What if someone steals it?"

"No one is going to steal it. "

"But what if someone does?"

"Well, then we'll let them figure out how to use it."

"MOM!"

"Ok I'll go bring it in. Good night."

"'Night mom."

Oh, well. We did see it, just not through the telescope. It just wasn't feeling cooperative this time.

Touch Not!

I just finished reading Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follet. I think it was an Oprah book awhile back, but it was just recently passed to me by my mother.

The story is set around a small Priory (church) in 12th century England...it's a fascinating story of love, religion and the feudal system in medieval times. This was a time of violence, insolence, and unjust governing...where the one with the power has the power, regardless of how he came upon said power.

All throughout the book, there was something nagging at the back of my mind. Each time I picked it up, I would do so with the intent to search for what it was that was bothering me, but the story is so gripping I would soon forget my mission. I would lie awake at night and wonder why some small aspect of this story seemed so important to me.

As I finished the book today, I realized what it was.

This time depicted was vicious; an extraordinarily challenging time to live in. People died young, from famine, disease, war, or simply senseless violence. Problems were solved with swords, wealth was measured by horses and land, and whoever was in charge govenered exactly as he saw fit.

But this was also a time of God. There was an established religious system, and the monks of this Priory answered to Bishops and the Pope. It was a time when even the most vile and violent had fear of God, fear of the horrors of hell and the punishment meted out there.

It was "policy", so to speak, that monasteries were places of refuge and peace, and this priory was no exception. It was a place where a person who was being pursued or persecuted could flee to and be safe from harm. It was also "policy" that no one could ever harm a monk or any other representative of God, for to do so would result in eternal damnation and torture. A monk could stand in the face of the fiercest knight and cause the knight to stand down.

Granted these "policies" I have shared certainly had exceptions in reality. However, it was one aspect of living in this time. Why?

In such a time as this, when violence ruled, there had to be some available means of refuge. The church used the fear of hell, which precipitated a fear of clergy and church grounds, to keep some sense of civility in a wild world. This was a necessary means of peacekeeping, in a time when there was virtually no safety anywhere, no rule of law that was reliable, for rulers often changed frequently.

Touch not the Lord's anointed was a necessary means of protection for the people of this time. It was believed and practiced in the literal sense...that touching, with the intent of physical harm, of a representative of God was strictly forbidden or be cursed to hell.

I wonder if we really ought to still be using such a "policy" in today's times of relative peace and safety? This of course is not to say that there is peace and safety everywhere, however, here in the U.S. and most of the western world, there is generally no longer a need to have houses of refuge from barbarians and violent men. The necessity of using the fear of hell and the "touch not" rule seems to have dissipated.

I'm no scholar, but to the best of my understanding, the Hebrew word "touch" (naga) in 1st Chron. 16:22 and Psalms 105:15 is translated as such: to touch or to strike. These indicate physical touch or harm.

Yes, we should have healthy respect for clergy and houses of worship, but must this respect be abused in the way it sometimes is by today's representative's of God? I don't necessarily believe the original intent was meant to be used to manipulate and control people from an authoritarian standpoint. I don't believe it means "Do not challenge your Pastor's teachings." I don't think it means one who criticizes manipulative or controlling behavior by members of the Clergy is doomed to hell.

I do believe there are certainly places in this world where such a teaching, to do no physical harm to a representative of God, would still be incredibly valuable to people who live in that area.

Otherwise, for most of us, I believe it was simply a practical teaching, with application in a far more primitive and barbaric time than ours.

Just wondering.

History

Sometimes we are struck dumb by the realization that the world existed before our birth. I have been so moved by that in recent weeks, and I wanted to share, if only for posterity sake.

My maternal Grandparents married before WWII. Shortly after their marriage, my grandfather shipped off with the Navy, to work on a minesweeper in the South Pacific. If I remember correctly, he was gone well over two years before he was able to return to his new bride. During that time, my grandmother worked for the military as a civilian, I believe tending a switchboard and working as a typist.

After the war, they bought property and built a small cottage to live in while my grandfather built a huge home with his own hands. My mother was born while they lived in the cottage, but soon they moved into the house, where eventually my mother's sister was born.

My grandfather worked as a builder for many years, but also worked as a optometrist, grinding glasses and helping people see. My grandmother worked as a volunteer, helping people see in another fashion. They were devout Lutherans, and my grandmother taught Sunday school in their Lutheran church, to small children for close to 50 years. This church is where my grandparents' parents attended, as well as much of the extended family. My parents were married in that church, and my sister and I were baptized there as infants.

My grandfather was a bit gruff and rough around the edges, but he was nothing but loving towards his family. He loved to be active, and as time went by, he had built a huge shop to house his Airstream trailer, fishing boat, and hunting gear. He was an avid outdoorsman, and they spent many many weeks traveling around in that Airstream; it being towed by an International, and later a Suburban. My mother says she spent more time camping than living in the house, in her years as a girl. After he retired, my grandfather became a whittler...always making something, creating something to give away. One year, he built us all coffee tables, inlaid with stones he had polished himself. Another year he made us all clocks in the shape of a Celtic cross. I can remember many other things my grandfather made, but these two stand out in my mind.

My grandmother is a gentle, passive person. She was a crafter...sewing, stitching, and scrapbooking (long before it became fashionable or complicated). She made many of my early childhood dresses herself, and each fabric was meaningful. Once when I was small, I was looking at a book or otherwise engrossed, when my grandmother asked me a question. I sternly replied, "Don't bug me, I'm busy". Because I was so young (maybe 2) it was humorous, not insulting, and soon I had an apron made of fabric printed with ladybugs on it, and the words "Don't Bug Me" woven into the print.

My grandmother was also a collector. She had a collection for every month of the year, which until a few years ago, each month were hauled out of storage and spread throughout her house. One month was Snowmen, one Leprechauns, one Baskets....a collection for every month, each month had a theme. She did have a primary collection, though, owls. She had an owl everything- lightswitch covers, flowerpots, silverware, hand towels....you name it. They were her muse, in a way. Maybe this is why I feel, if I were to have a totem, it would be an Owl.

The earth was hallowed to each of them. They always had a huge garden growing with corn and lettuce and beets, carrots and potatoes, blueberries and strawberries. They tilled this soil every year and planted, then nursed until they had a bounty to be shared with everyone who set foot on their property. My grandmother loved flowers, as well, and had truly massive flowerbeds surrounding the house and yard. She was partial to pansies, and has a multitude of colors of them, and I was always mystified by the rainbow.

Until about a year ago, well into their 80's, my grandparents lived in that home he built with his hands. Then, they finally conceded that it was necessary to move into a retirement community, where they could have a home with no stairs and no yard to upkeep. My grandfather's health has deteriorated quite a bit since then, and soon he will be in full-time nursing care. This prospect is simply horrible to my grandmother, being separated from this man who has been her world for 65 years, but she is not yet ready or willing to be in a nursing home. It seems that for the first time, since WWII, they will be separated; this time with little hope of reunion this side of Glory.

Being depression-era people, they kept everything. EVERYTHING. This mentality served them well, as they retired with appropriate assets, including their home they have never had a mortgage on (because they didn't trust the banks), so there has been sufficient money to pay for their care, even without selling the house. But now, a year later, the house is being renovated by my brother, in preparation to sell to finance their continued end-of-life care as comfortably as possible. However, as "keepers", their home is completely full of all the things they've kept.

This weekend we are having an estate sale at their home, the house they built, loved, lived in for what seems like forever; all of my living memory, all my mother's living memory. These last few weeks, myself, along with most of my extended family, have been spent sorting and categorizing, and pricing, the history in this house:

• I have flipped through scrapbooks, the old-fashioned kind, large books with manila paper, full of rubber-cemented cards, newspaper clippings and magazine articles, from the 1940's to the 1990's.
• I sorted magazines dating back to the turn of the century, some no doubt inherited from my great-grandparents; Seventeen from the 50's, National Geographic from the 30's, The Saturday evening Post from the 20's.
• I organized hundreds of vinyl LP's like Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass or Sonny and Cher or Frank Sinatra, or Glenn Miller.
• I guesstimated the value of ancient, pre-WWII typewriters, a singer treadle sewing machine, and an Easy Washing Machine Co. Electric Ironing Machine, or a 1930's Philco Cathedral radio.

That's just the stuff I have laid hands on. There is random fabric by the bushel. There is china and furniture, tools and canning jars. There are journals, one in my grandmother's broad and low handwriting for every year of her adult life. There are collections of Santa's and candles and cupids. There are things which no one even knows what they are.

Then there are the scrapbooks. Shelves, ROOMS full of scrapbooks. My grandmother saved every card, clipping, article, drawing, piece of paper for all of her eternity. My mom found a scrapbook page from the baby shower my grandmother had when pregnant with my mom. It included a list of every gift, every card, every memory from that time. She has a scrapbook for every year of the Portland Rose Festival, including every article about every Princess of this iconic Portland tradition.

The scrapbooks are ironic to me. My grandmother wanted to remember all these things; she wanted tangible and complete reminders of every day of her life. My mom was joking today, "NOW I know what she did with all those gallons of rubber cement all these years!" I remember cutting and pasting with her as a girl, placing clippings and cards, not-so-carefully on the huge pages.

It's ironic to me, to be sorting through all these remnants of their life. Tomorrow I will see much tangible evidence of their history walk out the door; these things will be going home with someone new, some stranger, to become part of someone else's life, someone else's memories.

But they will also be part of mine.

I'm not a terribly sentimental person, but I am moved by my grandmother's motivation to preserve history. Here we are, her grand and great-grand generations, learning about her life from what she has left behind, because she took the time to document it.

She might not have even realized, all those years and decades of cutting and gluing, that one day her descendants would be sorting them, rifling through them, in an almost empty house. People who would be compelled to sit for awhile, even with so much work yet to be done, and read a bit about history that took place before we even existed. And think about who the person was who found these moments in time, carefully pasted, important enough to preserve.

Then again, maybe she did. Realize, that is.

Very, very soon, in a matter of a few short weeks or months, my grandparents will be gone. I have been so fortunate to have these amazing people as a part of my life for so many, many years. I have learned so much about what it is to be kind, what it is to be generous, what it is to be loving, what it is to be creative, what it is to be alive, from these people...from their blood in my blood, and from what they have contributed to my heart and mind and soul all these years of my life.

I am thankful I am having this thorough journey through their lives while they still live. For I do not sit in this house with regret for not having realized who they were, but I still can hug them, with a renewed appreciation for everything their lives meant, for all their contributions to the lives of others, and for their love and generosity.

I love them. They are my history.

Love Is.....

...having a brother to hug.

This post is part of the February 13, 2008 photo synchroblog on the topic of "Love". Please visit my fellow synchrobloggers (direct links may not be active until their content is posted):

Phil Wyman at Square No More
Jenelle D'Alessandro at Hello Said Jenelle
Billy Calderwood at Billy Calderwood
Sam Norton at Elizaphanian
Sally Coleman at Eternal Echoes
Mike Bursell at Mike's Musings
Julie Clawson at One Hand Clapping
Steve Hayes at Notes from the Underground
Sonja Andrews at Calacirian
David Fisher at Be the Revolution
KW Leslie at The Evening of Kent
Paul Walker at Out of the Cocoon
Reba Baskett at In Reba's World

A Narrow Path, A Crooked Line, Fly

Some have a style
That they work hard to refine
So they walk a crooked line
But she won't understand
Why anyone would have to try
To walk a line when they could fly
-- The Bangles

Some of you are probably wondering what I mean by this surreptitious *freedom* I speak of. Well, here goes. I'll probably get in trouble for this post; but there is no rest for the wicked.

I easily recall something I learned growing up in the 70's: We are all Free to be You and Me. This stuck with me all these years

Here's the rub. God created us each to be unique...to be beautiful in our differences...this is what I call "freedom"...the freedom not to conform to every so-called Christian ideal, the freedom to be who we are...with one single, necessary sameness: Love God with all your heart.

When I say "unique", I am not necessarily suggesting you all should get your noses pierced and dye your hair rainbow, unless those things speak to your uniqueness. Your uniqueness, is, well, unique. It is the sum of your life experiences, your strengths, your creativity, your personality. Whatever it is, your uniqueness has intense and amazing value; for if we work to become alike, abiding the same rules and boundaries, our journeys become altogether similar. We will then lose the color and texture and beauty that a life of being unique-in-all-the-world might offer to each of us, and collectively as people.

The freedom to be unique brings something else to the table; it enables us to have a journey all our own where we might learn our own lessons and come to our own conclusions about which lifestyle, behaviors and beliefs are worthwhile and which are not. Is that heresy? Possibly, in some eyes. I would simply ask you this: in biblical accounts, were all the people who followed God the same? Same lifestyle, same attitudes, same perspectives? So you suppose today they would all have the same political views, the same theology?

I suppose there are two ways to look at human purpose on earth, as Christians; one speaks of grace and love, the other speaks of judgment and death. Are they two sides of the same coin, requiring balance, or are they opposite ends of a spectrum, requiring a choice as to how and why to live? I wonder.

One of our primary purposes is to share this journey called life, speak what we have learned in our uniqueness, and love on others. I believe we exist for the benefit of others; resoundingly not so we can be *right* in our lifestyle, theology, or appearance by some arbitrary but binding interpretation; nor to exert this *rightness* on other people. Certainly not to create massive entities which outline some considered-to-be-righteous lifestyle we must all live by, at the expense of our unique place and purpose.

Am I saying there is no sin? Of course not. If that were true there wouldn't be millions of people suffering every day from it's effects. However, many of the things the church has taught to be sin are not. They are simply evidence of uniqueness, nothing more sinister.

I suggest rather than defining sins, we spend our energy making others' lives better by sharing what our uniqueness has given to us...a story, a dime, time. For regardless of how many rules you adhere to; if you are not kind, you are not right.

Some say the way to God is a straight and narrow path we must walk. Stay in the lines, don't stray.

However, I tend to think it's much more fun to fly.

Pt 1: Chili All Over the Kitchen
Pt 2: Harlots, Heretics and Hussies
Pt 3: Liars and the Men Who Love Them
Pt 4: A Narrow Path, A Crooked Line, Fly

Porpoise Diving Ordinary

My friend Pam is February's guest editor for The Porpoise Diving Life. 2008 is the year of guest-editors for PDL, as Bill Dahl is taking a sabbatical this year from writing at PDL to work on other projects.

Pam's topic was The Power of the Ordinary...and it's all online now - check it out!

Her line-up includes:

• Mr. Nobody - A Song By Todd Baio
• Book Review - The New Christians - Dispatches From The Emergent Frontier by Tony Jones
• How to Become a Legend by Doing Nothing Special - An Interview With Pastor Ken Lloyd
• Clear the Bench - Doable Evangelism for the Ordinary Christian by Randy Siever
• Backyard Faith -Finding Adventure in Everyday Life by Mike Ege
• Embracing the Ordinary - How I Stopped Chasing The Wind by Paul Vieira
• Artist Spotlight: Aaron Strumpel
• Dove - A Song by Aaron Strumpel
• A Review of The Porpoise Diving Life Audio Book - by Pam Hogeweide

Next month (March), John Smulo is taking the reins with "Be Like Jesus". He is accepting submissions through February 25th. If you'd like more information about the topic or submissions, John's e-mail address can be found on the PDL home page, under Guest Editors for 2008.

Other guest editors for 2008 include:

April 1, 2008: Jeff Jacobsen
May 1, 2008: Erin Word - More info to come!
June 1, 2008: Dena Brehm
July 1, 2008: Barabara LeGere
August 1, 2008: Sonja Andrews & Patrick Oden
Sept.1, 2008: Glenn Hager
Oct. 1, 2008: FOR WOMEN ONLY – Pam Hogeweide & Erin Word

Also in 2008:
Nov. 1, 2008 - International Issue
Dec. 1, 2008: - Inter-Faith Issue

Keep watching PDL for more information about these guest editors and their topics. I will be sharing more about my topic soon....stay tuned.

One more thing...back in November Bill shared a copy of his PDL Audiobook with me. I have been listening to it and plan to write about it soon. It is excellent, encouraging and insightful, and I look forward to sharing more about it.

123

Cyndi Clack tagged me today with this:

The rules of this game:
Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. No cheating!
Find Page 123.
Find the first 5 sentences.
Post the next 3 sentences.
Tag 5 people.

I don't know the origins of this meme, if you know, tell me in the comments.

The book closest to me right now is God's Breath: Sacred Scriptures of the World, so this should be interesting. So...page 123...ok, there are no sentences on this page since it is taken from the Tao Te Ching, so I will go with lines instead:

"no wrong is greater than discontent
no curse crueler than getting what you want
the contentment of being content is true contentment indeed"

So there you have it. Wisdom for the day.

Since this is an easy one, I'll tag people:

Cindy at Run With It
Barry at Honest Faith
Rob at The Spyglass
Happy at A Fundamental Shift
Donna at her MySpace