In case you wanted to see the "tan" I worked so hard for before Kelli's wedding, here's a picture of Eric and I at the reception. Can you tell we're livin' it up?
Wednesday, August 22
Friday, August 17
Betty Jo Goes to Washington
This week in Washinton D.C. is the Coupe Mondiale - the world championship competition for accordionists. Musicians come from all over the world to the Coupe, and thankfully this year it was held in the United States. I say thankfully, because it meant that my extremely talented mother-in-law, Betty Jo Simon, had the chance to attend the competition.
Along with playing in the UMKC Accordion Orchestra, she entered the Maddalena Belfiore Entertainment Competition for Female Accordionists. What option did the judges have, really, when confronted with such a great musician and entertainer? Nevermind those musicians from New Zealand, Poland, etc. Betty Jo took first place. We're extremely excited for her. It is a well-deserved honor.
This picture is the cover from her Musically Yours album. You can hear some samples from the album at her website, http://www.bettyjosimon.com/.
Along with playing in the UMKC Accordion Orchestra, she entered the Maddalena Belfiore Entertainment Competition for Female Accordionists. What option did the judges have, really, when confronted with such a great musician and entertainer? Nevermind those musicians from New Zealand, Poland, etc. Betty Jo took first place. We're extremely excited for her. It is a well-deserved honor.
This picture is the cover from her Musically Yours album. You can hear some samples from the album at her website, http://www.bettyjosimon.com/.
Thursday, August 16
All But My Life
Working for Mark has the added benefit of exposing me to books that I'm interested in reading, but I just never knew it. For instance, the other day we sold a copy of All But My Life, the story of Holocaust survivor Gerda Weissmann Klein. I promptly went to the library and checked it out. In my own defense, I have to say that this isn't a morbid fascination with the Holocaust. But rather it stems from two things. The first is the realization that for everyone writing these books, it was not a short season of sadness or hardship but a long season that they never forget or live without an awareness of, unlike most of us. Second, each story is valuable because each life is valuable. If everyone in life has a story to tell, how much more do these survivors have to tell. And so no matter how many Holocaust memoirs I read, I never find them boring or predictable. Eric jokes, "You are unique - just like everyone else." It's meant to be a joke, yet it still rings true.
All But My Life had some especially "unique" aspects that touched me. After being separated from her brother, her father, and finally her mother, Gerda spent years in Nazi work camps enduring depravation and abuse. At the end of the war when the liberation troops came through, she encountered an American soldier walking to the barracks where she and the other girls had camped out because they were unsure of where to go next.
"Shaking my head, I stared at this man who was to me the embodiment of all heroism and liberty. He greeted me. I must tell him from the start, I resolved, so that he has no illusions about us. Perhaps I had acquired a feeling of shame. After all, for six long years the Nazis had tried to demean us.
'May I see the other ladies?' he asked.
'Ladies!' my brain repeated. He probably doesn't know, I thought. I must tell him.
'We are Jews,' I said in a small voice.
'So am I,' he answered. Was there a catch in his voice, or did I imagine it?
I could have embraced him but I was aware how dirty and repulsive I must be.
'Won't you come with me?' he asked. He held the door open. I didn't understand at first. I looked at him questioningly but not a muscle of his face moved. He wanted me to feel that he had not seen the dirt or the lice. He saw a lady and I shall be forever grateful to him for his graciousness."
All But My Life had some especially "unique" aspects that touched me. After being separated from her brother, her father, and finally her mother, Gerda spent years in Nazi work camps enduring depravation and abuse. At the end of the war when the liberation troops came through, she encountered an American soldier walking to the barracks where she and the other girls had camped out because they were unsure of where to go next.
"Shaking my head, I stared at this man who was to me the embodiment of all heroism and liberty. He greeted me. I must tell him from the start, I resolved, so that he has no illusions about us. Perhaps I had acquired a feeling of shame. After all, for six long years the Nazis had tried to demean us.
'May I see the other ladies?' he asked.
'Ladies!' my brain repeated. He probably doesn't know, I thought. I must tell him.
'We are Jews,' I said in a small voice.
'So am I,' he answered. Was there a catch in his voice, or did I imagine it?
I could have embraced him but I was aware how dirty and repulsive I must be.
'Won't you come with me?' he asked. He held the door open. I didn't understand at first. I looked at him questioningly but not a muscle of his face moved. He wanted me to feel that he had not seen the dirt or the lice. He saw a lady and I shall be forever grateful to him for his graciousness."
Tuesday, August 14
Books and Buyers
One of the things I enjoy about my new position with Latte Books is (as Anne Shirley might say) the scope for imagination that it allows.
Sometimes it is easy to see a connection between book and buyer. A buyer from Washington D.C. orders a book on history and politics. From Southern California comes an order for a diet and exercise book. The Manhattan, KS buyer needs a book on gender studies before the fall semester begins.
At other times, however, there is much to wonder about. Today I shipped a book to a man - Surviving Colon Cancer. Is it for him? His wife? A friend? A parent? It was a bittersweet moment in the Shipping & Handling Department as I sealed the envelope.
Or take one day last week, for instance. A woman ordered a copy of Wild at Heart. To give away to a man in her life? Or to read herself, in hopes of understanding him better? That same day a man ordered a copy of Captivating, the book by John Eldridge and his wife that is basically a female Wild at Heart. My mind raced all over again, imagining the potential future readers of the book I shipped off.
Ever so often we sell a book that Marky actually bought from me. Perspectives, a book on missions, found a new owner today, as did The Jane Eyre Affair. I wonder what they will think of my books, what kind of people they are to be searching these particular books out, and if reading them will have any kind of effect on their life.
I will never receive an answer to my musings, I know. But there is something fun in wondering.
Sometimes it is easy to see a connection between book and buyer. A buyer from Washington D.C. orders a book on history and politics. From Southern California comes an order for a diet and exercise book. The Manhattan, KS buyer needs a book on gender studies before the fall semester begins.
At other times, however, there is much to wonder about. Today I shipped a book to a man - Surviving Colon Cancer. Is it for him? His wife? A friend? A parent? It was a bittersweet moment in the Shipping & Handling Department as I sealed the envelope.
Or take one day last week, for instance. A woman ordered a copy of Wild at Heart. To give away to a man in her life? Or to read herself, in hopes of understanding him better? That same day a man ordered a copy of Captivating, the book by John Eldridge and his wife that is basically a female Wild at Heart. My mind raced all over again, imagining the potential future readers of the book I shipped off.
Ever so often we sell a book that Marky actually bought from me. Perspectives, a book on missions, found a new owner today, as did The Jane Eyre Affair. I wonder what they will think of my books, what kind of people they are to be searching these particular books out, and if reading them will have any kind of effect on their life.
I will never receive an answer to my musings, I know. But there is something fun in wondering.
Sunday, August 12
Peter
(I promise not to always write such longs posts. . .)
Having written about The Nazi Officer's Wife, I would be remiss in not writing about the even more amazing story of Holocaust survivor Peter Loth.
Born in a concentration camp in 1943 to a Jewish mother, Peter was allowed to live because Nazi doctors performed experiments on both him and his mother. During the liberation process at the end of the war, Peter ended up in a the care of a Polish woman, the only woman he knew as "Mama" until he was 12 or 13.
Unfortunately, post-war Poland was not a safe place for an orphaned German Jew. Peter was in and out of orphanages as his Polish mama did everything in her power to keep him safe. The details of the depravation, sexual abuse, and loss that he experienced in those years is overwhelming and heart breaking.
As a teenager, Peter was reunited with his real mother, who was married to an American GI and living in Germany. Her husband was African American, and Peter was introduced to his two half-sisters. As if his life weren't tragic enough, Peter and his new family moved back to the States - to Georgia in the late 1950s. The first people they met were the Ku Klux Klan. As Peter says, "and the beatings began again."
His story goes on, and you can go to his website for a better summary or to order a copy of his DVD. But one day he found Jesus. And through Jesus he learned to forgive. I think there is a part of human nature that likes the extreme example, and Peter's life certainly fits the bill. The Lord has helped him to walk in true forgiveness, and it is changing people around the world. He travels everywhere, but particularly places like Germany, Poland, Austria, and Israel, to share his story and the power of forgiveness. He has had former SS officers come up to him, asking for forgiveness and seen miracles happen when he does.
It is a powerful testimony, and you should really check it out for yourself if you haven't seen the DVD already. Having met him myself, I can't say enough about what an amazing man Peter is. The love that God has poured out on him has truly transformed him. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Wow. Only God can do that.
Having written about The Nazi Officer's Wife, I would be remiss in not writing about the even more amazing story of Holocaust survivor Peter Loth.
Born in a concentration camp in 1943 to a Jewish mother, Peter was allowed to live because Nazi doctors performed experiments on both him and his mother. During the liberation process at the end of the war, Peter ended up in a the care of a Polish woman, the only woman he knew as "Mama" until he was 12 or 13.
Unfortunately, post-war Poland was not a safe place for an orphaned German Jew. Peter was in and out of orphanages as his Polish mama did everything in her power to keep him safe. The details of the depravation, sexual abuse, and loss that he experienced in those years is overwhelming and heart breaking.
As a teenager, Peter was reunited with his real mother, who was married to an American GI and living in Germany. Her husband was African American, and Peter was introduced to his two half-sisters. As if his life weren't tragic enough, Peter and his new family moved back to the States - to Georgia in the late 1950s. The first people they met were the Ku Klux Klan. As Peter says, "and the beatings began again."
His story goes on, and you can go to his website for a better summary or to order a copy of his DVD. But one day he found Jesus. And through Jesus he learned to forgive. I think there is a part of human nature that likes the extreme example, and Peter's life certainly fits the bill. The Lord has helped him to walk in true forgiveness, and it is changing people around the world. He travels everywhere, but particularly places like Germany, Poland, Austria, and Israel, to share his story and the power of forgiveness. He has had former SS officers come up to him, asking for forgiveness and seen miracles happen when he does.
It is a powerful testimony, and you should really check it out for yourself if you haven't seen the DVD already. Having met him myself, I can't say enough about what an amazing man Peter is. The love that God has poured out on him has truly transformed him. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Wow. Only God can do that.
Thursday, August 9
There is something quite satisfying about recognizing and embracing your place in _______(fill in the blank - the world, your family, your job, the body of Messiah). The older I get - no age comments, please - the more obvious it becomes to me what I am.
I am a maintainer.
I love maintaining. I personally find visioncasting too fuzzy and fruitless, while implementing it downright difficult and requires a good amount of conflict. But maintaining, there's something I can get behind.
As the newest (and happily) employed member of the Latte Books team, it seemed appropriate to mention that my new job is all about maintaining. I maintain the ebb and flow of books that provide Marky - and now me - with income. I sit down at my makeshift desk in the utility closet and send books to people, a task that simultaneously pleases both me and the customer. Maintaining gives me that warm fuzzy feeling like a cup of hot tea or a bag of black licorice.
To take it a step further, however, I think maintaining is a part of my spiritual DNA. Arthur Burk talks about the increased ability to bless the land that is inherent with the redemptive gift of servant. Blessings are meant to be given over and over in order to sustain the state of blessing. It is spiritual maintenance.
And instead of finding this repitition boring or mundane, I feel my spirit come alive with excitement. Everything I've ever learned or heard around me convinces me that repitition and maintenance should and must be boring tasks. But I believe I am learning to disregard those voices.
I am a maintainer.
I love maintaining. I personally find visioncasting too fuzzy and fruitless, while implementing it downright difficult and requires a good amount of conflict. But maintaining, there's something I can get behind.
As the newest (and happily) employed member of the Latte Books team, it seemed appropriate to mention that my new job is all about maintaining. I maintain the ebb and flow of books that provide Marky - and now me - with income. I sit down at my makeshift desk in the utility closet and send books to people, a task that simultaneously pleases both me and the customer. Maintaining gives me that warm fuzzy feeling like a cup of hot tea or a bag of black licorice.
To take it a step further, however, I think maintaining is a part of my spiritual DNA. Arthur Burk talks about the increased ability to bless the land that is inherent with the redemptive gift of servant. Blessings are meant to be given over and over in order to sustain the state of blessing. It is spiritual maintenance.
And instead of finding this repitition boring or mundane, I feel my spirit come alive with excitement. Everything I've ever learned or heard around me convinces me that repitition and maintenance should and must be boring tasks. But I believe I am learning to disregard those voices.
Monday, August 6
The Nazi Officer's Wife
We recently attended the Tish B'Av service at a local synagogue, and before the service they showed a documentary called The Nazi Officer's Wife. I was so intrigued that I checked out a copy of the book by the same name. It is the memoir of Edith Hahn Beer, a Jewish woman who survived the Holocaust by faking her identity. By an incredible series of events, she went from a hunted fugitive in Vienna to the Third Reich's most valuable type of citizen - the childbearing wife of a Nazi officer.
Her memoir examines all of the trials and stresses of a "U-Boat," a Jew hiding from Nazi persecution in plain sight, surrounded by the sea of anti-Semitism that permeated every aspect of society. Her story shows the incredible resourcefulness and courage that often marks Holocaust narratives, while also going on to describe the rejection she faced from fellow Jews after the war because she had not suffered enough.
I think I was so captivated by her story because it exemplified realities of the war in middle-class Germany society (through the eyes of a Jew) that I only read about in historical sources - how good life was during the earlier years of the war, the complete silence and avoidance of any recognition that Jews used to live there, the horror of the Russians coming, and life after the war including a deep fear of the Jews returning in vengeance.
If you're interested in Holocaust literature, this is a definitely a book to add to your reading list.
Her memoir examines all of the trials and stresses of a "U-Boat," a Jew hiding from Nazi persecution in plain sight, surrounded by the sea of anti-Semitism that permeated every aspect of society. Her story shows the incredible resourcefulness and courage that often marks Holocaust narratives, while also going on to describe the rejection she faced from fellow Jews after the war because she had not suffered enough.
I think I was so captivated by her story because it exemplified realities of the war in middle-class Germany society (through the eyes of a Jew) that I only read about in historical sources - how good life was during the earlier years of the war, the complete silence and avoidance of any recognition that Jews used to live there, the horror of the Russians coming, and life after the war including a deep fear of the Jews returning in vengeance.
If you're interested in Holocaust literature, this is a definitely a book to add to your reading list.
Thursday, August 2
Pool Ponderings
I'm a pale person. This is a fact that I came to accept at a young age. Perhaps this serves as some kind of excuse for why I found myself so perplexed two weeks ago. I was going to be a bridesmaid in my good friend Kelli's wedding, where I would be wearing a halter dress with a low back. In honor of my well-tanned friend, I decided I should - perhaps for the first time in my life - try to lay out at the pool.
My first attempt was a complete failure. It rained on me.
So four days before the wedding I tried again. It was a weekday afternoon, so it wasn't too crowded. A woman was on the far side of the pool and a younger guy sat next to the entry gate. I took a chair a comfortable distance away from the guy and tried to settle in.
The problem with laying out is that I get so hot. Yet this seems to be the point. I brought some books and some writing to work on, in an attempt to distract myself from the blazing heat. Soon two girls came in, taking two of the chairs between me and the guy. Keep in mind, it's not crowded. There were any number of chairs they could have chosen around the pool, but these were evidently the chairs of choice. Fine. No big deal.
What their presence did remind me of is that I obviously have no idea how to navigate pool culture with any kind of style. What's the proper etiquette for choosing your pool chair? Perhaps I had unknowingly taken the seat of the "regulars." And how often should one get in the pool? When should you turn over?
As I was facing the pool music, another girl came in. There was only one chair remaining between me and the first two girls, and sure enough this was the most desirable chair at the pool.
So there I was - at the pool, incredibly hot, and right next to strangers. I threw caution to the wind and actually got in the pool. But now another complication seized me. What do you do by yourself in the pool when you're no longer a ten year old? Our pool isn't designed for laps. It's more like elbow macroni as opposed to the macaroni box. A rousing game of Marco Polo - by myself? Handstands? Complete awkwardness. And I realized (too late) that no one else had gone under the water when they got in the pool. Another pool rule broken. Cool kids don't swim under water.
As I did the backstroke across the 10-foot stretch of the pool, I resigned myself to my situation. I wasn't and never would be a fit for pool culture. Besides, I realized that for me (and admittedly this doesn't apply to all women), having a tan only increases that seemingly inevitable female tendency to obsess about our bodies and our appearance. I might as well swim and enjoy my pale self, wet hair and all.
My first attempt was a complete failure. It rained on me.
So four days before the wedding I tried again. It was a weekday afternoon, so it wasn't too crowded. A woman was on the far side of the pool and a younger guy sat next to the entry gate. I took a chair a comfortable distance away from the guy and tried to settle in.
The problem with laying out is that I get so hot. Yet this seems to be the point. I brought some books and some writing to work on, in an attempt to distract myself from the blazing heat. Soon two girls came in, taking two of the chairs between me and the guy. Keep in mind, it's not crowded. There were any number of chairs they could have chosen around the pool, but these were evidently the chairs of choice. Fine. No big deal.
What their presence did remind me of is that I obviously have no idea how to navigate pool culture with any kind of style. What's the proper etiquette for choosing your pool chair? Perhaps I had unknowingly taken the seat of the "regulars." And how often should one get in the pool? When should you turn over?
As I was facing the pool music, another girl came in. There was only one chair remaining between me and the first two girls, and sure enough this was the most desirable chair at the pool.
So there I was - at the pool, incredibly hot, and right next to strangers. I threw caution to the wind and actually got in the pool. But now another complication seized me. What do you do by yourself in the pool when you're no longer a ten year old? Our pool isn't designed for laps. It's more like elbow macroni as opposed to the macaroni box. A rousing game of Marco Polo - by myself? Handstands? Complete awkwardness. And I realized (too late) that no one else had gone under the water when they got in the pool. Another pool rule broken. Cool kids don't swim under water.
As I did the backstroke across the 10-foot stretch of the pool, I resigned myself to my situation. I wasn't and never would be a fit for pool culture. Besides, I realized that for me (and admittedly this doesn't apply to all women), having a tan only increases that seemingly inevitable female tendency to obsess about our bodies and our appearance. I might as well swim and enjoy my pale self, wet hair and all.
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