"White Indians don't get any money."

It's what a young Cherokee girl told my young son when he told her that we have a Cherokee ancestor. He was appropriately puzzled by the response.

Undoubtedly my son looking more Swedish than Cherokee is at least part of the reason for her response. Our Cherokee ancestor is four generations back. His mother was Cherokee, his father, a white man. Born just after the turn of the last century, as a mixed-race child he was looked down upon. He was given to a white family to raise; he was not treated well, and left home as a boy to find "his people". He spent much of his youth looking for his family, white and Indian, to no avail.

The same desire for belonging the young boy sought more than a hundred years ago, his great, great, grandson still seeks. Thankfully, my son wasn't discouraged by the odd response to his attempt at friendliness and commonality with a potential friend.

Pilot blinded by stroke is guided safely to ground

Without a doubt, this is one of the most incredible things I've heard of in a long, long time. A former pilot myself, in theory this should be fairly straightforward, but I can't imagine anyone willing to try it just to test the theory. Landing at night without a landing light can be challenging enough, but with NO frame of reference save what some stranger tells you (albeit a member of the RAF), boggles the mind. For all the training pilots have in trusting their instruments, literally flying blind, having to trust one's knowledge of where everything is in the cockpit would test anyone's intestinal fortitude. Think of driving blind at 60+ miles per hour (97 kilometres per hour) and having someone guide you. Now add in that you can't just pull over and stop. Eeeek.


It occurs to me that sometimes our walk with God is like this. Mine certainly has been. At a time when my marriage was rocky, I had no friends or family to support me, and my church had just abandoned me, I felt like I was flying blind. I knew God was still in control, but I wondered if He really loved me and, if so, why I was so alone. I can imagine the pilot felt entirely alone when he found himself blind at 5,500 feet. The pilot's only way to survive was through listening to a friendly voice that would tell him things he had no way of verifying. Still, he knew the voice was of a fellow pilot who was there to help. I can't imagine, though, that there wasn't a measure of apprehension and doubt, a thought that "I can't do this". Then again, the pilot had little choice. In an interview I saw with him, he spoke of the people on the ground who might be killed if he crashed. I can't help but wonder whether that perspective isn't a certain amount of the key.

Rats

I thought I saw something odd when Sarah Palin spoke to her young daughter on an interview on October 30th. Her comment, about it being nice how Willow(?) didn't have a sense of time, just wasn't...nice...or appropriate. It immediately raised flags. Now much of the news coming out about her behaviour fits all too well with those comments.

Unnamed sources reports of throwing things amidst temper tantrums (dare I say rage?) and bad reactions toward critical newspaper clippings are disturbing. The refusal to have additional interview prep after a shaky performance, her reported gaps in knowledge, and much of her attitude add up to something that isn't pretty.

I can only hope that the reports are exaggerated or nasty political back-biting.

Five Minute Bedtime Stories

"Only 5 minutes!" It's the phrase my mother repeated after giving my children a new bedtime story book for Christmas. "The stories are only 5 minutes!" She winked and grinned. Then at bedtime, she grabbed the book and started it all over again.

The meaning was obvious: when it comes to bedtime stories, the shorter, the better. At least for the adult doing the reading. Only five minutes.

It was so bizarre at the time. I'd never considered looking for a book of 5 minute bedtime stories. Sure, there were nights when I wasn't up for a long story. They were more than I would have liked. I actually enjoy reading aloud. I enjoy the snuggles as I read. I enjoy sharing that time with my children. Why would I want to limit that to 5 minutes?

Beyond that, there was something so -- wrong -- about the way she kept repeating "only 5 minutes". At the time, I was offended by the implication that getting my children shoved off to bed as quickly as possible was a good thing. But there was something more. I found that something more tonight.

My mother never put my children to bed. She never showed any interest, either. So, it wasn't as if she personally experienced inconvenience putting them to bed. She's never had any children stay overnight with her, either, so it's not that she's experienced pain reading other children bedtime stories. The only child she's ever spent time with during bedtime is...me. I am her reference for bedtime stories. Ouch.

Bedtime stories will never be the same for me. I now have a better appreciation of just how important they are.

Three Little Words: We'll Talk Later

The New Pastor has been with our church a while now. Not unexpectedly, the first few services he wasn't used to our church's normal order of worship. There were a few slight rough spots. It was not a big deal -- except, I was sure, in the mind of the narcissist. After all, an entire congregation was watching. Ouch.

The church staff are known to make friendly jabs at each other during Sunday services. This past week, it was the new pastor's turn to be on the receiving end. A comment was made about the rough spots. Anyone else would have taken it as a moment of friendliness that just happened to mention the understandable mistakes by someone new. The new pastor's quiet reply of "we'll talk later" was obviously not a continuance of friendly repartee.

I have no idea what actually happened behind the scenes and I like it that way. I've spent more time than I care listening to the rantings of a narcissist who believes he's been slighted. When it came to his job, its impact was felt for weeks and even months. I feel for the pastor's wife and children.

I am comforted, however, in my belief that if there were anyone able to handle the workplace ramifications, it's our church's senior staff. They're not wishy-washy. They know where they stand and why they stand there. Given that the common wisdom is there's really no way to reform a narcissist, perhaps this guy has a chance to experience the one surefire way of reform: God's grace.