Our newish dishwasher is an epic fail at cleaning dishes. We suspect the hard water of Wichita is the culprit.
A few nights ago, I did what any modern woman does to solve domestic issues. I posted our problem on Facebook to see if anyone had suggestions.
More than 50 comments later, I had a nice list of options to try including Cascade, Lemi Shine, and vinegar.
MORE THAN 50 COMMENTS?!
My new friend Pam, a mother of six who’s blogged for five years at It’s Time for More Coffee, could relate. She commented:
“Some days I realize I’m blogging all wrong as well. My number one post is still about Dr. Scholl’s Orthotics. Really? I blog about a lot. I bare my soul. What gets people’s attention? Shoe inserts.”
move over and lemi shine
No wonder those product review bloggers do so well. Not only do they get free samples, lucrative sponsorships, and hoards of followers, but they also get invited to the coolest brand parties at the blogging conferences. Swag a-plenty.
Cooking blogs are another thing all together. My friend Leah’s recipe for Hawaiian Rolls Ham Sammies went viral. When she disclosed to me the number of page views her blog Beyer Beware received as a result, I experienced a momentary loss of consciousness.
I came to with my mind racing. Maybe everyday epistle needs a food feature.
Holy meatballs. Angel food cake. Consecrated cherries in the year of jubilee.
I mean, who wants to read about the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb when there’s cookie dough brownie fudge cake balls to be made? Why ponder where God intersects with contentious societal issues when bacon wrapped grilled scallops with sweet ginger glaze are calling?
Leah’s Ham Sammies is a yummy, simple recipe with straightforward ingredients. And Leah consistently produces delicious content like this.
Every week, persecuted, hypoglycemic carnivores like me visit her for Hunk of Meat Mondays. What’s not to like?
That’s all well and good, but it still doesn’t explain the enthusiastic response to my dishwasher detergent question. Maybe no explanation is needed. Maybe the comment stream accomplished its higher task of restoring my faith in humanity.
It reminded me there are good people out there who want to help. Who want to speak. Who have useful information to share.
Welcome to the blogosphere. From dishwasher detergent to Ham Sammies and everything in between, we have a lot in common, you and I. And what a wonderful place to discuss it.
time to finish
Go to work in the morning and stick to it until evening without watching the clock. You never know from moment to moment how your work will turn out in the end. Ecclesiastes 11:6 The Message
I’ve been known to stay long past the bitter end, forever and ever, amen. But as I age, my impulse is to run.
crosses
Running seems more efficient. The minute the malaise sets in and my gut says maybe everything in this situation (or friendship or outfit or whatever) isn’t going to be okay after all, I’m set to fly. Don’t usually act on it, but I want to.
God in His wisdom paired me prone-to-bolt with a husband who is built-to-stay.
He does not easily move. He possesses patient, long-suffering stick-to-itiveness. Comes from growing up on a farm, I think.
There’s a lot of waiting on a farm. You wait for the weather to change. Wait for things to grow. Wait for the prices of your crop to go up. Wait for the costs of your implements to come down. Wait for homemade dinners. Wait for trips to town to get supplies.
In the suburbs where I come from there’s very little waiting. We devour instant gratification. Malls, 24-hour grocery stores, fast food restaurants, extreme makeovers at your choice of salons. Want to satisfy a craving? Change your life today? Walk-ins welcome.
This isn’t a contest between farm and suburbia. There are pros and cons to both. Just like there are times to run and times to stay put.
I’m thankful for people in my life who ground me from flight. I like to think they’re thankful for people like me who bid them to fly once in a while.
Queen Anne’s lace
I’m astounded by a God who remains steadfast in spite of us.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there Your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:7-10 NIV
I roomed with Katie, Leah Beyer, and Nancy Grossi at the BlogHer conference earlier this month. Katie, a discus thrower in college, vowed to be my tall, blonde bodyguard should the need arise in New York. Thankfully, I didn’t have to take her up on that offer, and we went shopping instead.
Katie has blogged at Pinke Post for five years. She is the mother to three beautiful children and the wife to her prince charming. In her professional life, she works in agriculture for state government.
Today she breaks her silence about her time as a food stamps mom.
Katie Pinke in Tahari
It’s an inspiring story from a beautiful woman with great determination, incredible work ethic, and the blessings of family and faith—the stuff of real hope and change.
Recommend a book to me everyone’s reading, a blog I must follow, a movie I must see. My first reaction is to turn up my nose.
low shelf library
I’ll go there, to that book, blog, or viral video. Do my best to be in-the-know.
More delicious are the discoveries.
I may find them by following a crowd or reading a review. But usually they come to me in lonely library catalog searches. Woeful browses through bookstores. Dives on Amazon. Quiet suggestions made in passing by trusted friends.
I take to the water in my small boat and put out my line. Maybe I’ll make a catch today. The repetition of searching almost always precedes the finding.
The best ones tug at my line. If I believed in fate, I’d say it was destiny. I was meant for this book at this moment.
In the continuum of space and time, it caught me.
stone fish, Lake Champlain
And when I’m caught or when I catch it or both, the sun bounces off our meeting. Sweet life flapping and flickering and fighting to be freed.
The memory imprints of those books, posts, poems, movies, and songs. I catch and release. Now I bear witness.
You must see what I’ve found, this book. You simply must.
I live with the scar of the hook, and I’m not the same as before.
“I, Wisdom, live together with good judgment. I know where to discover knowledge and discernment.” Proverbs 8:12 NLT
Waves of humans stripped down to the skivvies we call bathing suits. Nothing and nowhere to hide.
The throbbing sun bakes this oasis, this jewel of blue on the drought-worn prairie. We flock to the relief of the pool. We gather at the watering hole: elephant, antelope, crocodile, hyena.
My child, energized by the water and the people, skips between activities. I follow as his guardian and his insurance that he won’t swim alone today.
We begin with the obstacle course. Training for American Ninja.
lily pads
Children slip across floating lily pads. They scurry and swing along rope webs. They drop and dog paddle ferociously to the finish line.
I observe, taking note of my offspring’s competitive streak. Between his father and me, he didn’t stand a chance of missing that trait, poor thing.
Herds of middle schoolers run together in co-ed packs. High school girls saunter like giraffes in triads, while high school boys buzz in larger, amorphous groups, joking and oblivious to their surroundings.
Tattoos litter bodies. They punctuate skin and recoil like secret sin exposed in the sunlight.
toes and shadow
A dragon crawls around a woman’s torso. A cross marks a man’s bicep. A clover nips a lady’s ankle. And on another man’s chest, the infant footprint of his son who now swims beside him, a baby no more.
The hip, young women have accentuated their navels with piercings. Glittery rhinestone stars. All I can think of is how this will look should these girls grow up to bear children. Their tummies bulging with pregnancy, I imagine the star navel rings popping like buttons on shirts. Timers on turkeys.
Soon my child is ready to move on. Bravely I stand, the only person older than 16 in line for the slide.
orange anaconda
There are two water slides. The orange closed tunnel and the blue open air. Like closed and open MRI machines.
My child screams with delight as the giant, orange anaconda swallows him whole. Down into its narrow, black throat he disappears. I’m next in line.
I’m usually not claustrophobic, but the tunnel seems too long and too dark. I whiz around curves and pray for light. I wonder if this is what it feels like to die.
A burst of sun and water and the snake spits me out. Has my child survived?
He’s already back in line to slide again.
thrill of the day
We traverse the lazy river. We revisit the obstacle course, and I think it must be his favorite thing. Then we see it.
Children run to the foot of the great bucket. The alarm bell rings faster and faster as the bucket tips. A torrent of water splashes down on the crowd of shrieking kids. They disappear in the flood. They scatter as the water dissipates and drains away.
This. This is the thrill of the day.
I stand beside my child the next round. We watch the white water crash toward us. Drench us. Wash and cool us.
We are alive. And for a split second this summer, I am a child again.
How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know Him. 1 John 3:1 NIV 1984
This blog is like my house, and it’s time to set the House Rules.
here comes the fun
You’re invited to visit. I hope you come by often and bring friends with you. We throw a mini party here with every post. All guests are welcomed to comment, regardless of their viewpoints.
While this protected my site from trolls, in a way it also punished legitimate readers who faithfully and respectfully express their views here. Those readers will be happy to know I’ve lifted the stricter comment approvals.
But I still want this to be a safe place to agree to disagree.
Following BlogHer’s example and friends’ suggestions, I’ve written community guidelines for this site. They’re available in the top menu under House Rules.
Ten things you should know:
1. There will be a diverse group of guests in my house.
All sorts of people read this blog. I want everyone to feel free to respectfully comment if they choose to dialogue.
2. There will be discussion about many different topics, including some you may consider controversial.
This is my place to write what matters to me without editor or client changes. God and country are important to me; those topics will appear in the mix of posts.
3. Sometimes there will be disagreement.
It’s unrealistic to believe we’ll all agree about everything. This isn’t Parrot Island. We have to engage in civil discourse concerning matters of disagreement if we ever hope to reach solutions for the challenges we face. Go ahead and state your case, just mind your manners as well.
4. There will be civility and grace.
If you can’t play nice and respect the intrinsic value of the humans involved, you need to go elsewhere.
do not block
5. There will be no profanity.
This is a blog, not a bar. Think of another word to use or expect your comment to be deleted.
6. There will be no bullying.
That means no personal attacks, mudslinging, name-calling, direct threats, implied threats, stalking, harassing, posting of personal information that doesn’t belong to you or has nothing to do with the topic being discussed, libel, defamation, blatant misrepresentation of another person or group, violations of privacy, or links to profane or pornographic material.
7. There will be no spam whatsoever.
8. I determine what is unacceptable here, and I’m not limited by the House Rules.
As the sole owner, content creator, and community manager of this blog, I reserve the right to change the House Rules and to remove unacceptable comments at any time and without notice.
9. A word to trolls.
If you are a troll, you may comment if you abide by the House Rules. Otherwise, your comment will be deleted. And if you send me hateful tweets, I will block you so I do not receive your messages.
olive & kickin, as seen in Asheville, NC
10. Don’t like the rules?
Find another site with different rules.
Some of you may think this is harsh, self-aggrandizing overkill. Does a small, personal blog really need community guidelines?
I wish you were right. But last week’s experience prompted Momma Bear to law down the law.
This is my house. I will not allow it to be destroyed by abusive comments or overrun by trolls. Play by the rules or exit the party.
But let all who take refuge in You be glad;
let them ever sing for joy.
Spread Your protection over them,
that those who love Your name may rejoice in You. Psalm 5:11 NIV
The only Overkill here is by Men at Work from 1983, a very good year.
Have you ever been afraid to express your opinion? What impact did that experience have on you?
Jesus didn’t have a bicycle. If He had, I wonder if He would have used it to teach us how to follow God and help others do the same.
on the path
You can’t ride a bicycle for someone else. You may steady them as they start and run alongside until they pedal. But you can’t push them all the way.
Once they get going, you may ride behind them to watch for cars, in front of them to cross streets, beside them to buffer against traffic.
You might catch your breath when they nearly collide with trees or learn to use the hand breaks or jump off before a complete stop.
They’ll have spills and accidents.
They’ll have boo-boos and band-aids.
You’ll encourage them to get up and try again.
Sometimes you’ll fall, too. You’ll remember, and they’ll see, you’re imperfect like they are. You’ll get up again. So will they.
In an unexpected moment, you’ll notice they’re tracking with you. They don’t need your help as much. You’ll stop by the water and enjoy the view together.
rest stop
You don’t easily forget how to ride a bike once you learn. You carry it through life and it carries you.
Pass it on.
Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another —and all the more as you see the Day approaching. Hebrews 10:23-25 NIV
I’m With You by the sweet voices of Nichole Nordeman and Amy Grant.
First syndicated post, first blogging conference, first trip to New York City in almost 20 years, first opportunity to meet several online blogger friends in real life, first time seeing THE Martha Stewart speak live and in person.
My brain is full to overflowing.
I can quit or press on. Give up or give it my all. Be afraid or be brave. Cave to other people’s ideas of who I should be or reaffirm who I am and continue to be that person. Keep writing in series of lists—my favorite literary rhythm—or learn to break it up a bit.
I’ve been challenged in more ways than I could have imagined a week ago. In the words of THE Martha, it’s a good thing.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God. 1 John 5:5 NIV
Aaron Shust sang the perfect rallying song on the radio as I drove home from the airport yesterday: My Savior, My God.
How have you been challenged lately?
Will it defeat you or inspire you?
Write your heart out. Go for broke. Ursula K. Le Guin
Ann’s here
There are days I’m tempted to quit writing and go to work at Ann Taylor.
You may have expected me to say J Crew instead of Ann Taylor. Well, J Crew has yet to respond to my request to open a store in Wichita. Better get with the program, Jenna Lyons. Ann’s here and she’s vying to be my go-to store.
Ann Taylor. Pretty clothes. Sweet discount. Sleek space. Well-defined career opportunities.
I can hear the imaginary trolls of Nightmare on Aimee Street. “Yes!” they say. “It’s about time she got a real job.”
Why are they still hanging around anyway? Be gone, oh ye of little faith!
Back to Ann. I could work while the child is in school. Cook fine dinners from Pinterest recipes in the evenings. Sleep normal hours instead of waking up in the middle of the night to plink plink plink away at the keyboard until I’m cross-eyed.
I wouldn’t wonder where this is going, what’s the plan, how will I get there. Wouldn’t need to take a stand on controversial food, social, and cultural issues or dread negative comments. Wouldn’t fear people hating me and my blog because there would be no blog. There would only be Ann.
Ann is a possibility. She hangs like a life jacket on the back wall of my brain.
Until I remember the rush of writing and publishing and facilitating a dialogue. It’s like a throwing a mini party with every post. I can’t get that with Ann.
I can have a pleasant career, a steady paycheck, and very nice clothes with Ann. No shame in that, but it’s not my passion. I can sell dresses with cheerfulness and take joy in the new arrivals each season. But it’s not the thing that makes me sing.
no parking no waiting
There’s a little stream of stories inside me that hasn’t run dry yet.
God provides. God provides.
What if I just write until it does?
Shall we go for broke, you and I?
What do you say?
And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, He will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith? Matthew 6:30 NLT
It’s important to me to protect the forum of discussion on everyday epistle so people of all views are able to respectfully comment here. In order to do that, all comments will be held in moderation until approved.
Thanks for reading. Please continue to pray God will work in this and in our country as He sees fit. It is my hope we can continue the tradition of the rule of law and the First Amendment, agreeing to disagree with civility and respect for each other.
