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Name: Dixie
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Lewisville
Gender: Female


Interests: giving out unsolicated advice. taking care of my bidness I'm educational and entertaining
Expertise: home life worklife playlike sports medical rock and roll NOT
Occupation: Education/training
Industry: Entertainment


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Member Since: 10/21/2005

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Sunday, November 08, 2009

bump...bump...

Confidence is a tricky thing. I think of myself as a confident person. I do not know exactly when I gained my confidence in life. It was most likely not a single experience but the culmination of a long series of life experiences. I can say that for the most part I walk around believing that I am a capable, strong, smart, and grown up individual. I maintain good eye contact. I stand tall with my shoulders back and my head up. I smile at people. I am engaging and interested in others. I even have people tell me that I am wise and give good advice.

So pardon me if I sometimes get a bit overconfident. Pardon me if sometimes I cannot see far enough down the road to anticipate the bumps that are rapidly approaching. Pardon me if I forget that I as capable of missteps and blind spots. A fall will come. Believe me when I say it always does.

Like most of us, I learned to ride a bike when I was about seven years old. My first bike as a yellow framed Western Flyer with a sparkly banana seat and the muscle “V” shaped handle bars. It was the classic 70’s kid bike. I tricked it out with the biggest basket known to man. I was prepared to haul every toy I owned if I was ever called upon to run away from home. That day never came, by the way. Riding a bike gave a kid freedom and confidence. As soon as we could maneuver those wheels to spin without training wheels, we believed we could go anywhere and do just about anything.

One day, Stacy, my brother, and I were spending the day at our Grandparents’ house. We had gotten over there by bicycle traversing across town on bumpy, broken sidewalks, dirt paths and narrow neighborhood streets. Our confidence in our abilities to ride was at a pinnacle. Pecan Drive started at the top of a hill that sloped, crested, leveled out and then sloped again. At the bottom of the last slope, the street made a fairly sharp curve to the left. Stacy and I got the idea to ride Pecan Drive together on his purple Schwinn Stingray knock-off. My job was to steer the handlebars and his was to pedal. I sat behind him on the long seat with my arms reaching around him to grab the handlebars.

We started at the top of the hill and made it to the first level with exhilaration. We picked up speed, the pedals spinning faster than Stacy’s legs could keep up. The handlebars began to wobble violently. Our thrill quickly turned to terror. The curve of the road was approaching rapidly and it was obvious that neither one of us had any control to stop the bike or to make the curve. The bike slammed into the curb and we flew off the bike half onto the street and half onto a bed of thick pine needles.

Stunned, we were speechless for the briefest of moments. Then I realized that my brand new glasses were no longer on my face. I found them a couple of feet away in the street. A nasty, white scratch was etched on the right lens and the frames were bent. When I put them back on my face, I realized that the scratch was directly in my line of vision. I started to cry. Mostly I was crying out of fear as to what Mother might say about ruining my brand new, expensive glasses. Stacy on the other hand, was laughing when he got up. He checked the bike for damage, got back on it and rode the rest of the way to Grandmother’s.

As I walked back, my confidence was shaken. I would be cautious the next time I thought about riding the bike again. I would not repeat the same mistake. My overconfidence would be tempered now by the knowledge that a fall could happen. My eyes would be alert to any pitfall awaiting me around each and every curve in the road. I would slow down.

Until one day I turn around one day and realize that I have not fallen in a very long time. I begin to believe in my own invincibility. I start to believe that I have truly learned from my mistakes. I believe that tomorrow will move just like today and that I am capable, strong, smart and …

Wow! What was that?? Bump. The rut in the road? The one I missed while holding my head up high and maintaining good eye contact. The one I missed while trying to carry more than myself on the handle bars. The one I should have seen coming somehow.

I wish I were more cautious still. I wish I could remind myself to look down the road first, check all the intersections, look for the road construction before I start on the journey. I wish I would slow down a bit. I wish I could be more like my brother and simply get up, laugh it off and ride on. But I hate making mistakes!

I remind a friend of mine frequently not to chew at his own arm. Imagine the restraints that hold us chained to old behaviors and old mindsets. Imagine our desire to be freed from those. We imagine that we believe the restraints are so strong and so beyond our capability to untie or unlock them that we would rather gnaw ourselves in great pain and harm to be free. We only maim ourselves and we are still not free.

I am gnawing at my arm instead of searching for the key to freedom. But tomorrow? Tomorrow I will get up, laugh a bit, and ride on. Oh, I will not make the same mistake twice. You wait and see.


Saturday, October 10, 2009

Sacred Spaces

I'm not sure  I can explain why I started thinking about sacred spaces.  It has been an idea that has come to me in various ways and through various people in the last few years.  I was raised to believe that there was no real need for the sacred in living.  Because only God was sacred, anything that he created was sanctified but holiness was reserved for heaven alone.  I'm not sure how the Church of Christ came to this conclusion.  I think that it comes from a couple of different perspectives.  First of all, the denomination of Churches of Christ came from very poor, undereducated, and rural southern people.  They won't really admit this but it is true.  I was raised in a church where education was looked upon as prideful and would eventually lead you "away from God."

Also, because of the poverty of these churches, there came a prideful attitude that we were above such trappings of stained glass and beautiful woods and symbols and sacraments. Those beliefs were justified by the poverty of first century Christianity and the humility of early believers which we were continually called upon to imitate in spirit and in action.

I'm not bitter about this.  I'm just trying to look at it honestly.  I remember being very uncomfortable going into houses of worship filled with imagery and manmade glory because I could still hear derisive voices saying things like, "God doesn't care about the religion of man." or "The church is not a place, it is people."  I came to believe that God also did not believe in the sacred among us.

But of course, scripture has much to say about altars and temples and places dedicated to God and the worship of those who seek Him. And I have grown to see things differently. 

Consequently, the thought about having a sacred space is something that I am still working on. I believe that there is more to sacred spaces and altars than I have been willing to acknowledge in my life.

My current understanding is that the sacred spaces in our lives don’t have to reside in buildings. They are those places where God allows our communion with Him. They are those places that call to us again and again spiritually. We say what we need to say to Him and He calls us children. The sacred spaces in our lives are our altars where we experience communion. Laying down burdens. Forgiveness. Holy. Sacrificial. Enfolding. And it can happen anywhere for any of us. Sometimes those sacred spaces are where the beauty of life overwhelms us whether it is mountain tops or sweeping vistas or forest glades or gardens lush and orderly. But at other times those spaces represent us finding peace and wisdom unexpectedly. They can be mundane to the eye but deeply connected to the soul. It is knowing that God dwells and the heart submitting to the all that could mean.


A sacred space can evoke a memory of belonging and fellowship. It could be on a playground calling us back to childhood and simplicity. It could be an Altar of Trees ancient and knowing carrying the voices of children and small creatures.

It is a place so strong it lives in you. It breathes in you. I carries you through darkness and uncertainty. It is eternal.

 


Wednesday, July 15, 2009

skating rinks

Lyla and I had a trade off day.  She went to the gym with me while I took a spin class (and found my happy place) so I bargained with her and went to the skating rink.

It was steamy and crowded with "Y" kids. It was actually cooler to keep movin' and groovin' around the rink over and over.  I actually enjoyed the mindless esacpe into kidhood.  For some reason little kids kept smilng at me and talking to me.  I don't know... One kid asked if I was his music teacher from Degan Elem.

Somethings never change.  Skating rinks are some of those things.  However, the skates were different and better.  And they've come up with these skate walkers to help kids that don't know how to skate.  I have mixed feelings about that. 

But once they turn down the lights, put up the flashing colored lights and play "Brickhouse" you just know everything is going to be alright.  It's just like time stops and you're 13 years old all over again.

 


Sunday, July 05, 2009

The Beginnings of My Funeral File

I'm not sure why I decided to write this now.  I'm in no hurry to have this matter but here's the beginning of my funeral file.  Take note, To Whom It May Concern.

Music:
"Looking for Space" by John Denver. Start the service with this.

"Ancient Skies" by Michael Gungor

"Nearer, Still Nearer."  It might set the mood once everyone gets seated.I have always wanted an a cappella version of this.
"Blessed Be Your Name" by Matt Redmon
"Holy, Holy, Holy" traditional
"Days of Elijah" to end the service.  I want it to go on and on and build and build.  Sing "behold he comes, riding on the clouds" until everyone is just in raptured praise.  Greg will know what to do.
Anything else that you think I would like, To Whom It May Concern.

I want stories told: funny stories, embarassing stories, inspiring stories.  I'd really like it if someone I'm friends with speaks and if there is someone I have mentored or inspired to do something life changing to also speak.  If my kids want to talk, great. If anyone wants to speak, I'd welcome it. 

 

I'm sure I'll think of something else but for now, let's file this one away.

 


Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Held Captive by Miss Lyla

Last night we had family over to celebrate the passage from underage to legal status for this young man right here.

family March-April 2008 017

For some reason after dinner Miss Lyla was in an unusual state.  She was holding court with all the grown ups present.  She was playing teacher and everyone was her student.  We all were given the chance to select nicknames.  The Birthday Boy was called "Fancy Broadway." My brother-in-law selected "Dirty Diaper."  He refused to change. *bah dum bum*  She called us all babies.

After 30 minutes into this forced capitivity, it came time to bring it to a close.  So "I Do Not Care To Play" (dad) came in and sat down. He said, "You know this is only going to end one way.  She is going to melt down and run upstairs crying."

 I looked at Lyla and said, "OK.  One more game of Simon Says and we'll have to quit for tonight."

Her face crumbled.  She buried her head on my shoulder and started crying.  Sure enough, she almost ran upstairs but I stopped her and made her stay.

Nana said, "Oh, Lyla.  Come here and sit in my lap.  Tell me what's wrong."

"They wouldn't play right.  They were all talking over me and not cooperating."

"Oh, dear.  Well you just sit right here with me and let's see what we can do about this."

The room collectively shook heads and smirked.  Then the quote of the night came from my new son-in-law.

"Nana is an enabler."

 

 



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