An Introduction: Day 1 of living unexcessively

Time has a way of bringing things back around, and once again I'm teaching the "Godly Girls." The actual name of the class is "The Making of a Godly Woman," but that's just too long to say. Last year the teachers of "Godly Girls" included the book 7, which is an experiment dealing with excess in our American culture. The author takes a month and pares down an area in her life to 7 (yes, 7) items.

We don't have months to get through the areas of excess we all live in, so we pared down the pare down and decided to work on each category for a week. Since we're talking "godly girls" and not bonafided 18-year-old adults, the project is voluntary and--well--modified. Since all the girls were participating in the project, how could I not. I looked myself in the mirror and said, "You ARE the teacher. You will do this."

This week is food. Here is the deal: we each picked 7 foods to eat for a week. Just 7. Together we shared the items we'd chosen, determined we'd start on Monday because yesterday was the Superbowl (and Superbowl parties), and that we'd make our 7th item a flex item, meaning we could have one food of our choice each day. (This was necessary because this week students are giving speeches in speech class, and the hope among the godly is that most of those speeches will include food.) We also decided that everyone needs their calcium, so milk is a freebee. As I said, it's modified.

My list of foods for the week is as follows: chicken, cheese, eggs, bread, salad, canned peaches (because both Walmart and Target were out of apricots. Seriously?), and my flex food of the day.

By my 10:00 planning period, I felt like I was on a diet--the losing weight kind. There is generally a dearth of food items in the teachers' lounge, but oh, not today. The cupcakes were easy to pass on. The dip? That was hard. I stared long at it and couldn't in any way rationalize that it was only made of cheese. I took one of those cute little breads that accompanied it and pulled the salad out of my lunch box while everyone else partook of the dip. Apparently, it was good.

By the time the happy godly girls arrived in the late afternoon, I was famished. (I suspect it had to do with the missing chips that Jay usually packs in my lunch.) The girls were happy as larks; no one had brought food for their speeches today, and Kari declared she'd had leftover pizza as her flex food.

"Pizza?" I thought. "Is that allowed? Must be. We have leftover pizza."

Supper was suddenly decided--to which Jay was grateful.

The flexible item just might be my salvation this week. 

Great Hope

Dear Christa—

The sound of the Ft. Carson helicopters overhead has become ominous to me. Once again they head north, their flight path over our house. Day after June day they flew north toward the Black Forest fires. Now, they head north once more, seeking out the trapped, the lost, the desperate from the remote mountain towns and beyond that have been ravaged by the floods.

And this Sunday morning it brings again the thoughts of how easily we become spiritually trapped. One moment life is as beautiful as a Colorado mountain range, dappled in sun and fresh air.

How quickly disaster can be raging toward us, and there is no way to know its presence or its destruction. Humanity is in great need.

But, we are neither trapped nor deserted. God, very God, searches out the hearts of humankind. His Spirit winds through our spiritual deserts. He seeks out the lost. He seeks out the broken. He seeks out you and me.

Oh, give thanks this day. I pray it is a day our military recues many in the mountains. I pray it is a day that the Spirit of the Lord rescues many from the tides of desperate need.

Do you feel hopeless today? There is a realm we do not yet see, and the Spirit of God is seeking—seeking out you. Life is not as ominous as it may seem. There is great hope overhead.

This Memorial Day

When Mr. E—, who works with Christian schools internationally, talked to the AP and British Literature classes this year about differences in cultures, he mentioned that when people from other countries have accompanied him to the U. S., they often cannot understand why Americans honor their military. We clap for men and women in uniform at airports across the nation, and it has not gone unnoticed.

Once while we dined in a Disneyworld restaurant, when the couple next to our table learned that Joel was military, they bought him a bowl of clam chowder that was their favorite there because they wanted to thank him for his service. And, many people have and do spend much time in prayer for him and his family. For that I am grateful.

With several military installations located in our town, it seems like most everyone is connected to the military in some way. And for years, every house on our block has displayed a flag everyday of the year, not just days like today.

I remember the night of 9/11 seeing the young couple next door in the sleet and the snow, together on a ladder, hanging an American flag. A few months later when their world imploded, I wondered if it had been the last meaningful act they’d done together.

Before Memorial Day weekend is over, many of my family in the area of my Midwestern roots will have made their way to small cemeteries that line country church yards far and near to place flags and flowers. I’m sure there are new ones at the front of my own dad’s grave this day.

So, on this Memorial Day, as I walked along the flag-bearing houses of my neighborhood, I thought again of our cultural characteristic of honoring our military. In many countries the military is the oppressive arm of a tyrant, but not here. So, I would answer those who would ask why we clap, support, and pray—

We honor our military because they are the guardians of our freedoms regardless of race, status, or creed. And we thank them because they and their families have given much to perform to that end.

The Battle for the Soul

 “sinful desires war against our soul”  (1 Peter 2:11)

And is that not the battle, after all?

The battle for the soul?

As we concern ourselves with the petty—

the injustices of the work place,

the inconveniences of our conditions,

our disappointments,

our failures

That pull our attention inward,

but not soul-ward.

And while we reach

For a morsel of earthly satisfaction,

a battle—

an all out cry—

Rages within our midst,

A war hard fought for nothing other

Than our very soul.

While, we stand in oblivion,

Entrenched by forces vying for the prize—

thoughtlessly,

inattentively,

We stretch for desires—

Sinful desires—

Unaware that within that outstretched palm,

Rests—naked and exposed—

            The prize,

                                    Our soul.

                                               

                                                                        Deb Borkert ‘12

1 Peter 3

And this would be a day that I would read 1 Pet. 3 and all that stuff about a "gentle and quiet spirit"--living in harmony and sympathy, love and  compassion. It'd have to be about keeping your "tongue from evil" and "seeking peace." 

Well, today I was a failure--a failure just when I can least afford it. 


Maybe tomorrow I'll "do good" and "seek peace."

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous 

and his ears are attentive to their prayer.

This is no time to get sassy, and I need to remember that!

Monet's Lament

I hear the birds in busy work,

Singing 'mid the sunny fields;

Flowers, too, are blossoming;

Spring is bringing forth her yield--

But, not for me.

I hear the children laugh in play,

Games of joy and hide-n-seek.

Squirrels are chasing lovingly;

They beckon forth the shy and meek--

But, not to me.

Today I sit alone in darkness.

Today I weep in pain.

Today the shadows, my companions,

Reach out--to embrace me.

Deb Borkert ‘11

Fear

Sadness is within the shadows

My old foe has returned.

I sense you there

Beyond the wispy branches,

In the forest of my mind.

What calleth thyself this day?

Disappointment, fear, reality?

Ah, fear, my worst fear—

It has been some time.

When I was young, I wailed against you,

In middle age, I ignored you—

I hadn’t time.

But, now you greet an old woman.

What shall my response be?

I desire to sink into you.

But, I know there is no rest in thy soft breast.

And it leaves me bewildered,

As we parley ‘round this tree—

Deb Borkert ‘11