Paean to the Endangered Art of Spelling

Eyes Before Ease by Larry Beason
I put this book on hold at the library three weeks ago, and it is steadily moving up the list, I'll have it by next week, so Librarian Sue assures me. One of many on my "Hold list" but the one I am most anticipating.

Spelling truly is more than simply the correct arrangement of consonants and vowels on a list for a test given every Thursday afternoon. Correct spelling divulges the human experience itself. Where our language has been, through which wars and settlements has it endured and been affected by - it all shows in the spelling of certain words.

"To err is human" is wisely recorded for all to read; to err is human, but to spell correctly is better. So much of our technical age has us utilizing automated spelling devises (where would we be without SpellCheck?), encountering abbreviated spelling techniques, (BTW-LOL. ITNF, my POS S TTYL). You've been encumbered by them, I know you have. Entire conversations are communicated without breaking open a noun, verb, adjective, or utilizing capitalization or punctuation. Forget about the overuse of the comma (the prime error in my 9th grade English and Grammar class) - "lets just throw every usage of punctuation out the window and simply stop a thought when we are done thinking, whether it is finished or not." Let me tell you, nothing and I mean nothing gets my goat like finding a typo on one of my own documents, a typographical error that I have mistakenly typed, overlooked, avoided or skimmed past. I hate to spell things wrong - I hate it! It applies to Lotus Notes, bulletins, school papers - the whole lot. No one wants to be a member of the Untied Methodist Church, but its happens everyday of the week simply by the cursory care so many give to spelling. And how many officers are connected with The Salavation Army? It happens so easily! I feel like somewhere deep down in the lurking scheme of my DNA God emplanted a typo-finder...they jump off the page at me. It is an unfortunante curse to ALWAYS be the bearer of tedious wrongness to unsuspecting souls.

People who spell better succeed at higher rates in every single profession. Spelling lets us communicate with others and it indicates our intelligence (high or low) before we even put on a power suit, enter an interview, meet a client for a project campaign. Before someone has the opportunity to assess our verbal capabilities, the written page carries an equivalent of what we consider important. My uniform may fit me impeccably, I may be able to quote the entire Psalter in Latin but if I cannot spell united worship, my reputation is spoiled.

The endangered art of spelling is not without it champions - winner of the 78th National Scribbs Spelling Bee 2006 was Anurag Kashyap spelling appoggiatura - an embellishing note in musical manuscript, usually one step above or below the note it precedes, and indicated by a half-sized note. (I was so excited - I knew how to spell that word and ran and showed Abby in her piano book where one was in the piece she is preparing for her lesson tomorrow. So did several in the audience...a collective, celebration gasp we all inhaled as he signified by the giant smile on his face, "Oh, do I know how to spell this...")

May 31 is the live broadcast of the 2007 National Spelling Bee, and I'm getting my notebook ready with a sharpened pencil and I may need to tape it or watch it after it's live broadcast, but I do want to see its action-packed competition.

Yeah, don't laugh at me. I know I was watching last year's competition, there are hours of it available on tv or the internet. I know the NBA is in the throes of its tournament playoff time with teams facing elimination...and the Cavs are hanging in strong. I know that the NHL Stanley Cup tournament playoff time still has the Red Wings competing strong, hitting hard and scoring fast. I'm aware that my Machine pitch baseball team tonight won their game 13-1 and my Little League game needed to be called on the verge of high-wind thunderstorm in the 4th inning. I know that in MLB, the Cleveland Indians are beating the Minnesota Twins, in NASCAR there are record-breaking penalties being doled out - there is a ton of Sports News right now. But I am glued to the screen of ESPN2 as these 11 year old and 13 year old spellers simply shine for the world to see.

They are exquisite and phenomenal - and my heart is racing at their added shows of excellence and temerity.

peccavi cantist onomasiologic ceraunograph eminentissimo

onychophagy (the compulsive biting of fingernails) epideitic - rhetoric

exsiccosis - dehydration sobornost - spiritual harmony hodiernal - present day

and the eliminators of two spellers in round 19

trouvaille - a lucky find

roscian - the skill of acting

As I sit with my notebook, I am spelling with them, trying my knowledge and laughing with them as the giant S for the background SCRIBBS falls off the wall. I sigh with relief when I find a word I know, or can recognize the foundational spelling from the definition or the language of origin.

Whew...$22,000.00 cash prize and scholarship money for college tuition to a college of their choice - an exceptional grand prize!

It was the first time in 45 years that more than two contestants advanced to the championship rounds, there being three for three rounds. There were actually only 9 words left, and if they all would have continued spelling correctly, they would have all been the Spelling Champions.

Thrilling beyond belief for me, and my young ones as they retreat to bed are faking their newest awareness of phobias. They are doing their best imitations of clinophobia (the fear of going to bed) or hypnophobia (fear of sleep). Neither are working, so I must scoot them up there.

Enjoy your evening and always know, there is a world of telling in your realm of spelling!

Dandelions, wildflowers and Slurpies

As always seems to happen to our lives in Salvation Army ministry, early April adds a new gear to the schedule, ready to kick all speeds into hyperdrive. More to be accomplished, many programs coming to a focus and climax before the summer break. Network opportunities adding their final meetings and awards before summer claims. Graduations, weddings, birthdays add more pastel icings and flowers, dresses and balloons, hugs and kisses, joy mixed with pride, inspiration and tears. My birthday and our wedding anniversary have frequently been shared with a Civic Dinner or an Annual Dinner or a ballroom event of some sort. Dave just keeps reminding me with tenderness that he arranged it all for me, that I looking great in a uniform and he looks dashing and promises to save the best dance on my card. Several concerts, and musicals and plays and other stage-based creations - so many performances to be prepared for, to participate in and then to check off the list with a sigh of relief and accomplishment.

And then there is baseball season.

The lists were received in hand today and already God has answered many prayers about potential time conflicts, garnered family phone numbers to help filling the holes of when Dave or I couldn't be available and limited the misses to nearly none. Intentional ministry happens when baseball dirt has been mixed in with our vans and clothes and service. In a way that is predictable, baseball season, whether we are coaching or not, has reached our hearts and the hearts of other parents deeply in a way that cannot be ignored. I keep a Bible (Kate calls it my baseball Bible, the nearly indestructible bound - certainly not leather) in the middle of our driver and passenger seat and it comes out with the chairs, sunscreen, picnic dinner, blanket and sunglasses. Everytime. It is beat up, stained and slightly warped from a mad gotta-get-out-of-the-instant-thunder/lightning storm dash which still found us soaked to the bone.

It is tearstained and dogeared, with bookmarkers that are dried dandelions and pressed wildflowers. Mostly it is connections with moms, but dads as well, and the conversation always includes spiritual questions, heart talks, needed discipline, encouragement that they are doing the right thing, lonely nights when a husband is three weeks on the other coast with his job, an aggressive court date over child-support, loss of a job, family celebrations/funerals - the works. And favorite verses are easily found because they have been turned to so frequently, as easy as finding the Psalms - right there it is.

John 14 is one of them, and I look at it tonight and recognize the stain that covers it is a little bit of flower pollen, a little bit of Slurpie. Looking through the colors I hear Jesus talking with me, "Don't let your heart be troubled..."

Actually going to these practices and games can be slightly demanding, requiring me to be "prayed up" and willing to be open and listen. Listening to a person, really hearing what is said (and just as importantly, what is NOT said) requires a compassionate and deep store of stamina.

"Don't let your heart be troubled..."

Stamina has not been my strong suit these past few weeks.

It was not until I was perched at the edge of the hospital examination table this afternoon did I acknowledge why my patience was unbelievably short, my memory scattered, my concentration distracted, my heart pulled in so many directions.

I've been worried over something that is very wrong, and each doctor's visit is leading to another one, a more specific one, a more thorough one. Specific to not send warnings of alarm, each new face has helped express rationale reasons and potential explanations, "these tests are to eliminate the unknown so we can focus on the known".

So there, with lowered lights and technical machines, I began answering the most natural of questions and responding with the same to help occupy the time of this 30 minute test. My nurse replied to my questions and it was obvious, both of us had hearts that were full; the conversation was natural and unhindered. When your heart is full there is not need for small talk, diminutive answers about your favorite sports teams or the weather you expect for your next garden party. Life issues were on the surface here.

Her daughter...graduation...communication...."where did the time go"...divorce...uncertainty of life.

Her tears and my tears.

"Don't let your heart be troubled..."
She knew I didn't just come in off the street looking for a place to rest my aching feet and pass the time playing Euchre. She knew my reasons, and followed the breadcrumbs of information, connecting the dots with dates and events and details. Apologizing slightly, she knew my heart was just as concerned. Her reassurance and comfort were tangible, encouraging and tenderly applied.

These spiritual conversation opportunities weave in and out of my day, and since I spend my days tracing God's activity, they are natural and expected. The verse I shared with her was for me just as soundly, John 14:1, the words of Jesus to his disciples, the words from my flower-pollen, Slurpie stained Bible - "Don't let your heart be troubled, trust in God trust also in Me."

And I let her know that my heart prayer every hour has developed into, "Precious Lord, please hold my heart" because it quakes with concern and worry, is easily angered and over-occupied with future details which have yet to be seen or determined.

She grasped my hand and said, "That will be mine too. Jesus needs to hold my heart."

Don't let your heart be troubled...Jesus promises that whatever meets us in the future has already been prepared for us by the loving and caring, merciful Heavenly Father. Nothing is faced alone. Nothing is a surprise to God. No detail is off His radar or beyond His awareness. No circumstance is unanticipated by our Father God; He has prepared...He has prepared.

Pioneer

Pioneer Women by Joanna Stratton, wow, has this book been compelling reading. I can't help but to place myself in the shoes of the characters of the past...would I have had the courage, the strength, the tenacity to leave behind everything I knew as home to strive for a dream? Could I keep my children alive, my husband alive, perform all those surgeries, save all those souls?

There are no Conestoga wagons leaving the Mississippi River to venture into the untamed west - the physical frontier does not exist anymore. But there are still frontier pioneers, on spiritual journeys, encountering the unknown, the unclear, the dangerous, the undefined. Some dear friends I know who are encountering a personal frontier right now. A new diagnoses. A new widowhood. A new grief to not be able to use that long expected baby's blanket. A new job. A marriage. A divorce. A planned surgery or an unplanned surgery. A ministry. A broken friendship.

Are you one, a pioneer, balancing upon the edge of a knife into the unknown? God our holy Father has gone on before you, and promises to be with you every step of the way. Hold onto Him with all you've got.

Pioneer
Hold on with all the strength you have, press on through your fear;

You walk into this unknown - You are a pioneer!

Loving Jehovah has walked before you, taken extra care, He is so near,

He has gone ahead, cleared the way - you are His pioneer.



See His hand there, hold it plain - the path you walk seems so unclear;

But our loving Lord knows every step. He is with you, tired pioneer.

You travel light, so little you bring into this new unbroken frontier,

Press on with courage, every step in your voyage, trembling pioneer.



The journey is long, steep, rocky, cold and though your heart is sincere

The darkness can feel oppressive, strong and gentle pioneer.

Our Guiding, Holy, Loving Father anticipates each single fear

Your steps feel lonely, but you are not alone in your voyage, pioneer.



Every heart break, each loneliness, uncertain steps severe

Have been prepared by God for you, faithful pioneer.

Other roads you pass...they are smooth and safe and clear.

You may be tempted to abandon this one, discouraged pioneer.



But your Holy Father has gone on before you and left His signposts - persevere!

Your journey is not easy, but it's yours, no one else's- have courage hopeful pioneer.

Hold on with all the strength you have. Press on, through all your fear,

You have obeyed the call of God, He is with you, weary pioneer.



Your steps feel uncertain,the path seems to disappear

Yet the Holy Father is there with you. You are His, faithful pioneer.



jsi

God Almighty, tender in love says, "I'll show up and take care of you as I promised and bring you back home from your journey. I know what I AM doing. I have it all planned out- plans to take care of you and not abandon you, plans to give you a future to hope for. When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I will listen. When you come looking for me, you'll find me. Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I'll make sure you are never disappointed. Jeremiah 29:10b-14a The Message

Jesus Takes This Walk With Me

The Road to Emmaus, my turn to speak this morning, with my sermon titled Taking a Walk With Jesus. (yeah, I know not the most creative titling, but it was clear and to the point. I'll do better next time, promise.) I greatly appreciate the Gospel of Luke, how the author included so many different people, teachings, healings, workings of God within the lives of people that desperately needed hope.

When I am preparing a sermon I always find at least a full page of questions after interacting with the Scripture: the hows, whys, wheres, they are frequently easy to answer (or find or research). The questions with the answers, those are like checking off my list. Yet once the sermon-ating process (yeah, yeah, this is Merriam Webster's territory, word fusion - you understand what I mean, you do it too, I know it.) is rolling, its not the answered questions that shape the whole body of my sermon, it has to include some of these unasnwered ones, too. I cannot answer every single question, these probing little fissures of curiosity and inquisition.

A few of them remain, linked together within this passage, they remain for me tonight, trivial, non-inflammatory, non-theologically based; there is no foundational doctrine which will be affected by the answers or the withholding of such. But they make me smile just to think about it - Question: Did the disciples recognize Jesus when He broke the bread because He always did the same thing with a loaf before He broke it? Like flipped it around, spinning it in His fingers? Does He smell its aroma to make sure its fresh? Turn it over as if an inspection, thank the provider for their artistry in baking? Did He save the heel for Himself (my favorite part, and if I was doing the breaking, I would try to find a way to maneuver it to be on my plate.) and ask for some schmear and lox? Did He even eat any or was the breaking - the habit these disciples had witnessed over and over again - was it the habitual behavior they recognized? Or was the recognition based upon God' release of the Holy Spirit to realize whose presence had encouraged them so deeply?

Luke always find a way to bring a good word, a solid word, and Emmaus brings a poignant insight to Jesus who continues to teach, again and again, the Suffering Servant is the fulfillment of the Prophets and our spiritual walk will include questions, discouragement and uncertainty. As believers we can reach out and draw the importance of truth, the Holy Spirit reminds us we never walk alone.

Jesus Takes This Walk With Me


Every step, in rhythm
I step out to the day;
Jesus takes this walk with me
No waiting, no delay.

Sometimes this walk is rapid,
Full of things to do,
People, places, circumstances -
A schedule to get through.

Still, Jesus takes this walk with me,
Not critical of the pace,
But simply, truly reminding me
“Life is not a race.”

Sometimes this stride is slackened,
With questions yet to ask,
“What will happen?” “How can it be?”
“Am I really up to this task?”

Still Jesus takes this walk with me,
Not demanding or distraught;
Jesus keeps this pace as well,
Hears the queries I have brought.

My questions, rants and ravings
Are not too much for Him;
Jesus hears my heart, completely,
And then fills it to the brim.

His answers in conversation
Always show He knows me best;
I cannot see the future
Or know all about my quest.

Still, He gives me deep encouragement
When things seem so unknown;
Jesus takes this walk with me,
I am never, ever alone.

jsi

As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus acted as if he were going on farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”…They returned to Jerusalem at once, and told what had happened to them on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the bread. Luke 24:28-35

Special Bag-o-Faces

Three of four horns are here, as the Maestro's baton is engaged in the downbeat, as the last horn is coming down the walkway. A rich, lush, warm sound is given in Rimsy-Korsakov's Legend of the Invisible City. We horns stick together, bringing a heroic melody (i.e. theme from The Magnificent Seven), or a rich fully fleshed chord (i.e. Tchaikovsky or Wagner), with cuivre (The Rite of Spring)or legato (Beethoven IV), ranging throughout our 4 1/2 octave range. As a section, the horns bring a wide range of colors, volumes and timbres and for nearly every concert, we get the chance to play our face off. Rarely do we sit without an excerpt or a long tone to play.

"Did you bring your face tonight?" horn 2 asks me, as we share an eye-rolling glance of understanding, knowing the different faces you need to play the horn. You've got your high face, solo face, blastissimo face, oompah face, circular breathing face, staccato face, legato face. And then you've got your 4th horn face - low face, or better known as Basement Face. You gotta make sure you bring your special Bag-o-Faces for a performance or rehearsal. There are so many things asked of the horn section, and you may need to reach into this Bag-o-Faces to survive the performance. But when you wear the Basement face, you are dealing with a different animal altogether. You need an unhinged jaw with a rock solid slightly jutted lower jaw to create these loud, longheld pedal notes. You need to tongue differently, anticipating a downbeat. You need to tune differently, compensating for the physics component that a note that low will almost always and forever be - SHARP.

Although the french horn is made out of brass, we are more akin to the wind section - with the flutes, clarinets, bassoon, oboe. It is within the wind section the horn is in its glory (and power, and beauty and strength and stamina - oh can you tell I love the horn). You do not find horns sitting within the brass section - with trombones and trumpets and tubas. To do so would divorce us from the true power we bring. No, we find ourselves with the reeds at the heart of the orchestra, beating plainly the movement of the melody and its direction.

"Did you bring your face tonight?"

It is here at the heart of orchestra practice a few nights ago that I sit in a seat I have rarely filled, this basement beauty of solid tonic provision for each and every single chord. I, who have spent nearly my entire musical life existing above the staff, in the stratosphere in the high horn (and excelling at it) find my long-recessed fright, it had yet to come true in my lifetime until April 2007...

...Jessie Irwin, 4th horn.

"Did you bring your face tonight?"

Four horns in a typical section (some Mahler and Wagner has 8-10 horns - glory!), and each fulfilling a special purpose. Its not as simple as 1 good player and three next in line of talent and skill or years of tenure. To the contrary, it is more organized and strategic than that. 1st and 3rd horns - high horns. 2nd and 4th horns - low horns. 1st - generally most solos, 3rd to double many aspects (where I have spent nearly 85% of my time). 2nd duet accompaniment (finding me 12% of the time) with 1st horn in soloistic passages.

And then there's 4th horn.

Long pedal notes, lower than many trombone parts, sounding as is a Bomber pilot has approached overhead and is hovering before it drops is bombs and vamooses. Holding notes for 36-60 beats over 8-12 measures. Punctuating through the orchestra with the timpani, announcing the bass rhythms, bringing the tonic to most chords with the bassoons steadily there and the flute airily delivering their flighty melody.

'Did you bring your face tonight?"

Those pedal tones take 4 times the amount of air, because your aperture (lip shape) is so large to play these basement beauties, and usually they are in a solo manner so they must be substantial and loud. Enough of them in a row has me seeing spots and the room slightly tilting, my head spinning from the feeling of having received and expelled and received and expelled so much oxygen so quickly, over and over. Its quite a rush. I could use a bellows from a blacksmith for one chord, which Mr. Maestro insists on slowly rallentando to fade to nothing. Fade to nothing is exactly what I feel is happening to me, as my lungs are screaming for another gasp of life-bringing breath as my eyes loose their focus and begin to fade to black. Don't slow down for effect, Maestro, or I'm gonna give the audience an effect that is unexpected as someone needs to revive my lifeless body, crumpled in heap on the floor, clutching my Holton masterpiece securely to my lips.

We are playing our Russian concert, lots of Rimsy-Korsakov, with Scheherazade and Flight of the Bumble Bee and Mlada Dance Variations and a few more. The Toledo Ballet Company will perform with us, exquisite. Its exciting, rich romantic music which evokes deep passion and feeling. Russian music would be nowhere without long, gorgeous string cadenzas and the richness of the horn. We are so excited and fulfilled to be able to play the variety of this concert, even if the fillings in my head feel slightly looser from the velocity of volume required to announce my pedal B natural.

So, as I reach into this familiar Bag-o-Faces for Basement face, it strikes me poignant, "How many faces will I wear/have I worn this week?"

Happy face I get to prepare and teach a lesson plan for Venice Elementary, Mrs. W. 3rd grade class and stay with them all day long!

Kissey Face Today, Dave and my 16th wedding anniversary, though is full of responsibilities can still include some devoted time together

Stinking mad face Needing to escort the front desk librarian to the stack which holds the book they claim I still have checked out and helping them know that this fine of $17.35 is inaccurate, null and void, pointless.

Satisfied face Reception of an apology and direct correction of an error which has prevented me from being able to borrow any books for a week

Cheese face I am the one who takes about 95% of the pictures in our family, and it became sorely obvious three days ago that there was hardly any evidence that my husband had a wife or his children had a mother. Before Dave wrote away to the convent for a governess, we all decided to let everyone take a few pictures of mom.

Frostbite face Though the temperature hasn't reached above 48 degrees, we had a full week of baseball practice.

Face of Surprise When the richest man in town arrives at church on Sunday and stays, with his friend, for the whole service and has spiritual insights following the service on your sermon and Bible study points.

Mortified face When three days later I am able to understand that a church visit was, instead of a method of active and personal encouragement, actually a form of penance for the awful decision he helped solidify that we had be unaware of yet.

High road, composed face Keeping my conversation civil as someone who had recklessly insulted both Dave and I in a public fashion last week attempts to make amends (in their own It's-no-fault-of-mine demeanor). Apology sort of given from this community leader, yet decidely accepted, but it will take a longtime before there is enough trust built to even consider them close enough to try to do it again.

Tear stained face This week brought the worst reality yet, more correction from this community for the void of integrity the previous officer exhibited. Absolute removal of huge amounts of desperately needed funding, delivered in a letter (cowardly) instead of in person ( the least they could do). The only people getting punished in this whole matter have been us, and I feel battered and bruised, inside and out, from the whole experience.

Sleepy face I haven't slept a whole night through in 3 weeks

Face of PEACE NEOSA has the 24/7 prayer opportunity through the end of April and I took the 2-3 a.m. hour for its entirety. If I won't be asleep, I can be very specific about the time I spend. This early morning prayer vigil has frequently lasted longer than an hour, bringing grace and peace to tumultuous days. Unaware of the deep level of opposition we would meet for days on end, I signed up for this prayer opportunity unaware what I would be praying about. My answer came plainly and God has been strengthening and encouraging.

My special Bag-o-Faces, all of them neatly stacked right in there next to Basement face. Who knew there would be so many, and so many remaining in there not highlighted? I may need to wash these all before resting with my handy-dandy Sudoku volume tonight...a girl has to look her best you know.

Embrace and enjoy your evening!