California Roll

Taping up the Critic

Despite the awe in some people's eyes when I tell them I have 500 pages of a novel written, being a writer is not glamorous or thrilling--at least most of the time. And right now it's heartbreaking and confusing, as I'm reading the new draft through.

I've written these 500 pages over seven years time and my writing style has changed markedly. I think for the better. So that means I have a hundred or two hundred pages of writing that needs severe editing. Yuch. Makes my tendonitis starts to act up just thinking about all the mouse clicks.

I do actually enjoy the editing process sometimes, it's just that there SO much to do and it looks to take SO long.

I've got a self-imposed deadline of having this ready to go to an agent by June 1. I'm going to have to be single-minded to make it.

The good news is that it's not so hard to read it as the first time through. Oh, what dread and fear filled me the first time--the doubt and worry that I'd poured tons of time and pounds of money into a waste. The critical voice shouting in my head over every single sentence.

At least this time I know some parts of it, perhaps most of it, is good, maybe very good. I've had that affirmed by other established writers so I repeat their compliments to the critical judge in my head.

The hard part is deciding where to cut whole sections and plot turns, for the sake of brevity. Five hundred pages it long for a first novel and for this generation that steers clear of War and Peace and goes for Jodi Picoult novels and two hour movies.

Moving Beyond Anxiety into Community

Yesterday our pastor, John Ortberg, preached a great sermon, "Life Beyond Anxiety." You can hear it on-line if you go to the link below. (Eventually, a written version will appear there.) Life beyond anxiety: http://data.mppc.org/sermon/mp3/090208_jortberg.mp3

Other sermons here:
http://www.mppcfamily.org/app/w_page.php?id=49&type=section

Grace and faith do not come easily to me; anxiety does, and I've often felt ashamed about being so anxious. So I much appreciated the pastor anticipating this kind of reaction in I and others.

Since John has a PhD in psychology, he often brings pertinent information from that realm. He told us that 15-20% babies have hearts that beat faster in new situations. In other words, they are born with a pre-disposition to anxiety and unhealthy levels of guilt and self-reproach.

That's me. And it's a relief to find out that it's not my fault!

He told us not to waste time feeling guilty about our worry, but to take worry as a cue--not for guilt, but to invite the Spirit to give us power, love and self-control. (II Timothy 1:7)

Last weekend at the women's retreat I wrestled with anxiety and guilt in regards to my roommate. I'd signed up to be with an unknown woman the San Mateo campus which I attend. I wanted to be with someone who I could later see at rather than friends who attend to the Menlo Park campus of my church.

When this young woman heard my age during our first conversation, she said, "You're as old as my mother."

Yikes! And it didn't help that she had nothing good to say about her mother.

When she didn't find me and sit with me at breakfast as I had offered, my thoughts went on a worry tour - revisiting all our conversation from the night before and possible "mistake" and "putting off" things I'd said.

Confessing my anxiety at a small prayer meeting and hearing their prayers and concern helped. They received my feelings - rather than telling me how to fix the problem or not to worry -- and that helps me get unstuck.

During the conference I received lots of smiles and hugs and conversations that gave me the gift of feeling cared for and connected. Yes, there were times when I felt again social stings: a woman not looking at me or talking to me but focusing on just her friend be my side. or my roommate standing me up for dinner.

But I spoke up about it, rather than just be quiet and withdraw and the feelings of rejection dissipated. I told my roommate that I was disappointed that she didn't come sit with me at dinner and that I had been thinking about her remark that I was as old as her mother and wondered if that was why she didn't want to hang around me. Her explanation was convincing: nauseated; had skipped dinner and gone to town to buy crackers.

With having spoken about some of my perceived slights, I came away feeling happy that I'd gone, even euphoric with the joy of deeply connecting to other women.

So many of the women I know say they wouldn't/couldn't go to a women's conference. I wonder if it's because they are the 15-20% of the population born naturally timid, prone to anxiety and self-reproach.

Our speaker urged us to become valiant woman. Yes, that's our call.

So next year when I'm inviting people to this retreat I want to keep in mind that many struggle with the same feelings I have - but are to ashamed to admit them. I will pray and aim to speak so as to give courage to step past those fears towards community.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Do you know that song by Peter, Paul and Mary, "Leaving on a Jet Plane"? It dates me (popular in the 60's) and wings through my brain as I think about the departure of my eldest for college. In her month home we had talked about nearly everything we needed to talk about. It was time enough, but still hard to see her go.

I never imagined when my children were young that I would feel this way. They've become so much a part of me.

I wanted to send with her something of myself and our past together. So on Monday I made cinnamon bread. During her preschool and elementary school years we used to make two loaves of cinnamon bread twice a month.

Jenny would get out the milk and pour it in the Pyrex cup until it reached the red line I had pointed out to her. Then she'd pour it into the pot on the stove to heat up with the butter. When she was seven, I copied in big letters the list of ingredients so that she could independently read and measure out the right portions of sugar, flour and yeast.

In Japan we couldn't buy cinnamon bread, so we treasured our loaves made at home. Toasted, with butter melting on it, homemade cinnamon bread is the best comfort food around. It's better than homemade pie. Sweet, but wholesome. Filling, but light. And the smell when it cooks or toasts affords double delight. On Monday when I made cinnamon bread for Jenny, she reinforced by efforts by eating three thick slices.

In Japan we couldn't buy granola either, so we made our own. On two of my three by five stained recipe cards are scribbled two versions: a health and nut lover's granola with eight ingredients and on the second card a recipe for when I'm in a hurry. Just oats, honey, oil and raisins. We usually made the simple version in Japan because of the cost of ingredients uncommon in Japanese diet like nuts.

As a grade schooler Jenny loved making granola. She'd stand on a stool and stir the tan colored oat flakes with a big spoon until all were coated with honey and oil.

I sent Jenny back to New York with a quart-size bag full of an even more complicated recipe for granola, acquired from a trip I made with Jenny. At the B&B in Santa Fe at the time she checked out St. John's college, they had a white four poster bed and luscious breakfast with the best granola ever.

Jenny now abstains from meat that comes from animals treated inhumanely. Only free-range chickens or cows can serve as her food. In the last month I've shopped at many stores to find the right foods and tried out new recipes, like Turkish stuffed zucchini, with feta and swiss cheese.

When Jenny contemplated leaving California for college, I cheered her on. I didn't even think of the consequences to myself -- like not being able to drive up and see her when I missed her badly or she sounded distraught on the phone. I didn't anticipate that she wouldn't want to come home for her second Thanksgiving, but I understand well why she didn't.

Perhaps because I wish my desires for adventure had been blessed and supported by my parents I encouraged her to go to school far away. I attended a college only a two hour drive away.

Jenny's first year away was really tough for me at times. But I do believe Kahil Gibran's words: "If you love something set it free. If it returns to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was."

Getting Through the Holidays

My holidays went well this year--much fewer crying jags than the last two Decembers. The crying has been largely due to grief at losses in my extended family and sadness and frustration with dynamics of my own nuclear family.

My more jovial holiday spirit this year endured despite being sick on and off since before Thanksgiving.

I could write about personal spiritual reasons for more contentment, but here I focus on concrete things we can do to avoid giving into grief during the holiday season:

1) Give to others - I did the standard--canned food drive and a toy for a needy kid--and more and found joy and connection through these extras.

I ordered flowers for my sister two days drive from me. After we left three phone messages for each other, we eventually connected and had a good conversation.

I gave gifts to friends who weren't prepared or able to give me a gift. I had 26 people in my home for an international potluck on the day after Thanksgiving. I helped one of those who came, a young professional from Sri Lanka, organize an art museum trip for the weekend after New years. I asked to dinner in my home a young leader and her boyfriend and my husband and I enjoyed talking about the pitfalls and growth points in a young romantic relationship and marriage.

I started mentoring two younger women through a program our church has developed.

2) Invite someone else to enjoy the holidays with you.

On the day after Thanksgiving, 26 people came to my home for an international potluck. Tiring, but great fun. (I could entertain because we had our Thanksgiving dinner outside our home.)

We invited our 16 year old cousin Keith to spend eleven days with us, starting the day after Christmas. He and my two teenage daughters enjoy each other a lot. We did it for their sake, but it also brought great benefits to me!

Having Keith with us gave a reason to get out of the house and spend money (something we're oft too reluctant to do!) We introduced him to the snow, the new California Academy of Sciences and more. That was fun and seeing his delight was pure joy. His presence also forestalled some unhealthy family dynamics.

) Plus, planning a way to spend New Years that was fun for all in our immediate family.

We went to a Sierra Club Lodge over New Years. I've missed having New Years Parties to go to. Also in past years it's been difficult to find someone to join with us at home for the New Years Day Korean feast my husband creates.

The solution came as we tried to please our visiting nephew by taking him to the snow. Being with a group of friendly people in family-style lodge, joining in their Talent show on New Years Eve, and gazing out at gorgeous white snow on pine trees all infused me with cheer.

4) "When momma ain't happy, nobody ain't happy" -- I finally got it. So two days after Christmas when I was tired of watching my two teens and their cousin watch TV while I emptied the dishwasher and put on meals, I told them, "I'm tired. I need more help in the kitchen." They got up soon to help. When I cleared out of the kitchen and they did it together, they even enjoyed it!

Much better than losing my temper.

After Christmas, I called or e-mailed people to set up times with girlfriends. Two things are key about this: TIMING and GIRLFRIENDS.

If I'd contacted them before Xmas, they'd have been two busy with parties or or gift or meal preparation. I think I've contacted people too early before, got no response, and then gave up and nursed hurt feelings.

Women need girlfriends--oops, I mean women. Remember, I'm over 50 and so a girlfriend doesn't mean lesbian friend,

I don't have sisters I'm close to. We saw no extended family over Christmas except for this 16-year-old cousin. I need to take care of my own needs - not just wish and pray that someone would see what I need and volunteer to take care of it for me.

I find a common ailment among women these days: they are lonely and want a close friend, but wait for someone else to make that happen.

I've been there. And I used to call a gal friend to chat or ask her to dinner or a movie a time or two or three. We'd have a good time, but she'd never reciprocate. Then I'd think, "Well, I guess she doesn't like me after all. I guess I'm not important to her. We can't be close friends."

I've decided that ain't true. For several reasons rooted in the culture of this time and place, women who want friends - would even want my specific friendship - but don't call. So why punish myself by waiting for someone else to act when I can?

So today I spent four hours with a girlfriend as we drove to the hills and hiked, came home and worked, then went out to dinner with a different girlfriend.

It was good. Very good. I needed to pamper myself because I've been spending the last two weeks extending myself to others and pampering them.

I hope this helps somebody. And by writing this out I'll have something to help me remember how to make the holidays good next year.

Self-Inspection

A friend told me on New Years Eve that she had wanted to avoid looking back on her past year with a view to how it went and what she'd done. She wanted to not evaluate herself, but yet she did. She paid for it. A Migraine came.

Another friend sat with me for coffee recently and with puffy eyes and down-turned mouth told me of her eighth grader.

His attitude has changed towards me. The things he says . . . I wonder what kind of mother I've been. Being a reserved Asian she couldn't tell me what he'd said -- too much shame -- but I can well imagine since I've taken my share of tongue lashing from my own teenagers. I too have seen myself through my teens eyes and marked myself as a failure.

Our smart and perceptive (armed with psychological insights) teens do often accurately see and say what's wrong with us. But not all the time.

Their glasses are spotted too. People see from their own viewpoint - what is sometimes a need to see what's wrong with us.

Teens need to see their parents' faults so that they can become separate, that process of becoming their own persons and following their own desires rather than continuing a childish dependence and need to please those they've been attached to.

And we ourselves cannot see clearly who we are. Sometimes I criticize myself and scorn the course of my life: "What a loser!" "I never became a college prof or took a FT professional job for long--what a waste of my talent and ed."

Those attacks on myself come from wrong assumptions.

Who is to say that a college teacher actually has more impact than a stay-at-home mother, an ESL tutor, a writer and a volunteer in classrooms, an unpaid counselor, mentor, leader and Bible teacher as I have been. All these "little" things may add up to a lot. I cannot see the end outcome of how I've invited my time and talents. Other people cannot either and their opinions of my life do not ultimately matter.

I think the Apostle Paul understood all this when he wrote I Corinthians 4:2-5:

"Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful. (He'd been entrusted with the good news of Jesus and told to carry it too many) I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me.Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait til the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men's heart."

Did you get that! We are commanded not here not to judge ourselves. Judge means here to scorn or put ourselves down. We are told in other places in the Bible to appraise ourselves and others accurately.

When the Lord comes he will make plain what really causes me - or others - to do what we do. Actions that look initially good on the outside can come from a rotten heart and can ultimately have bad effects.

What is the motive I desire to have for my life's choices and work?

To love God and to love people in all that I do. The work and words I've said from that motivation will have lasting value. Everything else will disappear.

Finding Meaning for the New Year

Lately my pastor Nancy Ortberg made a provocative statement that I've quoted at least three times nows. "In these days a person needs two conversions: the first to community; the second to Jesus." (Not exact, since I didn't write it down at the time.)

Nancy was not talking about a, "Let's meet at the coffee shop every Saturday morning and moan about the loan news and gripe about politics" kind of community. Nor just about the "Mothers Club" of my home city where moms can meet other mothers of young children and find play dates and chat about tips for handling diapers, vomiting and biting toddlers.

Those things are important relief for our loneliness and confusion, but we need more. We need community that will help bring change at our core. Community where together we shine a little light into this dark world.

Yesterday I spent time with a dear friend, a teacher whom I got to know when we both lived in Kobe, Japan. She's still teaching English, but now in SF and we find time to reunite once or twice a year.

On awakening this morning I thought of a story she told: of a fifty year old American with Japanese wife who died recently in child birth. She left him withe great gift of two baby girls, but he now he must cope with the combined grief and joy of single parenting. He must race between the four English teaching jobs he taken to survive in Tokyo while living the huge cultural conflicts inherent in being with his mother-in-law who kindly cares for the babes, I'm sure as she grieves both the death of her husband and only daughter in the past year she is not an easy person to be with. And every time the father looks into the faces of his baby girls, does he regret their decision to seek fertility treatment? See death in the face of the living?

Joy at birth, sadness at death and loss - it permeates our world. The quest for meaning and connection that drives the energetic young can turn into a life of just trying to survive economically or find distraction from depression as people age.

I wish for that Japanese widow and American widower the community I've experienced that's sustained me. Through being involved with genuine Christ-imitators (not the raging, homophobia fake kind you see on TV), I've found comfort, strength, and even sometimes joy in my own crises or stage of life issues (fending off depression and self-hatred as my teenagers do their perfectly normal thing of launching off and kicking me as they do so).

What a difference to have people I regularly see once a week who smile with warmth, who are glad to hear my hurts, share my tears and pray for me, and with whom I can work to change our corner of the world - like together provide a homemade dinner for the homeless, together fill a huge truck twice with canned goods to restock the depleted shelves of Second Harvest Food bank, or together help a depressed woman with a baby and three and five-year-old boys who's separated from her husband and fighting the affects of having been physically abused.

I couldn't do these things alone. Alone, I'd end up just spending time with
friends, shopping or reading books/watching movies. Alone, I'd feel overwhelmed or afraid of the confusion and despair that can come when I get involved with needy or manipulative people. But, by walking hand in hand with others committed to being a force for practical good, I can light a lamp into desperate dark places my corner of the world.

With commitment to regularly spiritual community I find strength to fight off
my own inner demons (of which I still have many) as well as to give to others at a cost but with joy.

All new, who knew?

Deep connections are vital to me. Writing does that for me. When I can't tell people what I'm experiencing (because they're at work or shopping or seeing relatives), I can do ti this way.

Besides, even when I'm with people, I'm not sure they want to hear - or can understand and respond gently - to my intense feelings. These feelings swell and erupt often in this holiday season.

to a new city where no one knows or cares
for you, but Writing this poem on Sunday helped me understand what I felt and why. As I identified with the feelings I'm supposing Mary had on her travels, I no longer felt alone and came to a place of trust and contentment.

Poetry is my attempt to connect with you. I would love hearing a comment back - brief as it may be - after you read this.

All new, who knew?

Mary, soft and tender,
did you ache like me
to tell your stories?
After the angel spoke

of life within your womb,
and curious stares became cold glares,
as your secret further and further protruded,
did you ache to tell your story?

Mary so young (thirteen?) and vulnerable,
sent far from your mother's embrace,
to cousin Liza's place, how did that foreign
cot feel? eating others' meals? Did your faith vanquish

disgrace? Did you cry for your mother's gaze?
Mary, soft and full, when hormones made you
frail, who—what did you tell? Jehovah gave you
cousin Liza—a prophetess, she believed who swelled

your belly wide; she also bore one headed for
early demise. Mary tender and wise, you ride
with Joe beside you, to Bethlehem where no
one knows your name, but when time comes,

angels sing and shepherds bring
their sleepy sheep. Did the stable
owner hear or care? With babe in arms,
still you tell little to neighbor or baker—

you know the other Joseph
of old, who told his brothers his God-sent
dreams of glory. When envy and hate grew,
his beautiful coat didn’t save him.

You come with husband and Jesus to the temple
for the sacrifice Moses told to do—surprise: Simon
greets you as Mother of the Messiah. He tells,
“A sword will cut your heart.” You grapple

with your babe’s end from the start. Your fears you tell
to no one but Joe. For months he searches day
to day for ways to garner wages—you pray. Desperate,
did you know wise men would come with gifts

you need? Warned by an angel, you must flee from Herod
the king. So you tender gifts for the two-week long Egypt
road. In secret you leave, losing bed, neighbors, and
friends again, and go to Egypt, become a stranger

with few who know your God, your tongue.
You keep within who you know your son
will grow to be, your questions and your hope
in the promise of the angels’ song,

Mary, you make me wonder.

A New Kind of Christmas

On Friday morning I knew I'd be going to a Christmas party at a beautiful home that night. On the way home from tutoring English, the urge to drive in to Stanford shopping center almost overcame me. I wanted the newest fashion of holiday clothes--not my black top bought last year at Nordstrom's sale.

What kept me back was not the thinness of my wallet, but knowing that an hours spent shopping would keep me from writing my novel or having as much to give to people who needs basics, like groceries. These are truly hard times for many.

Saturday Collin delivered canned goods collected by MA highs school kids. I went on the first two of the six deliveries he made. When one woman opened her apartment I could see bunk beds in their living room. Probably six people in a tiny one-room apartment.

"God is always a giver" - one of the many outstanding points in the sermon by our pastor John Ortberg today. And when we give to others, God gives back. I needed to hear that.

You see, I'm tired. It's easy to believe the random thoughts like I've given too much and haven't spent enough time to people who can and will give back to me.

What I chose to give lies behind me and I was happy at the time of giving. I need to look ahead to what I can do in order to meet my own needs. I've scheduled a hike with a neighbor friend for Thursday--that's a way of planning for replenishment, a way that doesn't cost any money.

For Christmas our church is focusing on giving to those who truly need it, those who won't or can't pay us back. We learned that the 2nd Harvest Food Bank shelves are about empty, so for the next two Sundays we can bring goods to church and they will bring it to the food pantry. I'm going to make that opportunity known at the YMCA aerobics classes I attend and collect goods there.

I wrote a poem today and now I don't feel so tired. Weariness comes from emotions I haven't figured out, worked through, expressed to God. Writing the poem helped me do all that.

The Christmas season brings deep and complex emotions to me, but they needn't prevent me from giving.

Seredipity

In a movie we watched last night, a character said, "People don't like to admit how large a part luck plays in their lives."

I agree that our brains and hard work do not determine nearly as much as we'd like to think they do. In fact, because of the odds of getting a first novel published and actually earning something from it are so much against me, I'd give up on my novel writing if perspiration, intelligence and imagination were the main factors.

A friend, a new Christian, asked me today if I believed in angels. I do. She asked their purpose - to serve as messengers of God and carry out what he wants. Knowing angels exist gives me hope and peace in the midst of nervous-making situations like trying to complete or novel, or having a 17-year old daughter with a driver's license.

Today I didn't see or sense angels, but I did note some serendipitous circumstances. Perhaps an angel nudged me, opened my eyes to notice what would have stayed unseen.

I was on my way to Starbucks, but I looked within a store window--a charming tea shop, replete with tea pots and tea cups, the white with floral print ones. Inside a huge array of teas, including marvelous fruit-flavored tisanes and other no-caffeine teas, enticed me. I set up my lap-top and churned out another scene in my novel.

A woman took a seat behind me. We chatted a bit and soon found how much we have in common. We both write poetry and when she heard about my novel, she said she'd love to read it when it comes out.

I overheard conversation from a group of three women three tables over. On the way out, I paused. "I overheard some talk that gave me the idea that one of you has been to Japan recently."

I was right and they were excited to her a few of my Japan stores. All three of those artists also wanted my contact information and eager to read my novel. Did an angel draw me and these three enthusiasts together in that shop?

A few days ago the daunting task of completing my novel made me wonder if I'd gotten these all wrong and if I'd ever finish. I asked God for some signs that I should persevere in this difficult road of completing my novel.

Today I got them.

Drunk on Tea

A siren sounded and red lights flashed behind me. I was scared. A few minutes previous Collin, sitting beside me, had told me I was going 75 mph. I'd slowed down, but maybe not soon enough.
      I waited at the roadside until a young-looking cop came to the door on Collin's side.
      "I pulled you over because you were driving on shoulder."
      "I was?"
      "Yes. Why did you drive on the shoulder?"
      "I didn't know I was."
      "You did." And he told me the two places I had.
      "Maybe because of all the lights."
      "Lights?" That explanation apparently made no sense to him, being accustomed to freeways at night. My other difficulty in driving had been trying to read signs as I moved from Highway 17 to Highway 85 in a series of four confusing turns which took more than 360 degrees around. I merely told him, "I'm unfamiliar with this area."
      I answered many questions, including where I came from (Home), what I did in Santa Cruz (saw some college students and ate dinner), and showed him my license. He still seemed doubtful. I didn't tell him about the fiery-hot authentic Szechuan food I ate and the accompanying green tea.
      Finally I guessed his suspicion. "I only drank tea and water."
      "Do you drink alcohol?
      "Sometimes, but not much because I have gastric reflux." He didn't care about that. I wished I could read the thoughts, the pro's and con's buzzing around in his head.
      "Listen, if you want to do an alcohol test on me, go ahead." I had nothing to hide.
      He told me watch his finger as he moved it from one direction to the other. I had to focus on it as he kept it at my extreme left for the longest minute ever.
      I passed that test and the policeman let us go on our way. Confidence lost, I asked Collin to drive. He volunteered that hadn't noticed I was driving on the shoulder,
      Strange. The only explanation I came up with was this. A few minutes earlier Collin told me, "You should probably speed up." I was driving 50 because I was in unfamiliar territory trying to figure where to turn. I figured Collin was right. My slowness might annoy cars behind me and I put on the gas.
      Then a few minutes later Collin said, "You'd better check your speedometer." I was going over 70 mpg. I slowed down. Perhaps those sudden speed changes plus going on the shoulder twice caught the officer's eye. "Erratic driver--probably drunk," he thought.
      It makes a good story story now, but I was sure embarrassed last night. The moral for me is to not over-react to Collin's comments on my driving.
      Too sensitive. It's a trait I've struggled with all my life. I'm glad to know that God formed me in my mother's womb. I'm not just an accident.