Shaking the Saddlebags #3: I Don’t Know Myself Anymore

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This is Brennan. He's my Tuesday trainer. Brennan - Tuesdays, Molly - Thursdays. Someday - just me...all on my own.

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Klonopin For Sale Online Last week, the wind was whipping around our campus buildings at full force, temperatures were somewhere in the lower-frigid quadrant and I was walking in my medium-high heels to The Little Bakery.  From my office to this cozy little establishment is the equivalent of about two city blocks in distance.  I hadn’t taken four steps outside when I thought, “Forget this, I’m running.”  I ran on my toes all the way to the cafe, kicking in my “running-type breathing” about halfway there.

enter I walked in, checked out the healthy meals in the cooler, didn’t like what I saw and walked over to the second display to view the salads.  Then I got lost in thought: I had just chosen to run.  In heels, no less. Whaaattt?? I’m sorry, who am I?  And, when have I ever CHOSEN to run in – oh, say – the last year?

source link Then I remembered I CHOSE to walk up the stairs that day.  The choice wasn’t even conscious.  I just remember thinking, “I want to stretch my legs.”  That’s it.  Then I thought back to my workout on Tuesday.  It was brutal…I had gotten there a little late due to an advising session with one of my students and I didn’t really warm up.  We spent most of the time lifting weights, and at the end of the session, Brennan said, “Okay. That’s it – you’re done.”

Purchase Klonopin Online So what did I say back to him? Continue reading Shaking the Saddlebags #3: I Don’t Know Myself Anymore

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Deconstructing My “White” Christian Self, Part 3

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It’s been February.

Black History month.

For thirty plus years that didn’t mean much to me.

But now with two black children from Ethiopia, I have come to care deeply about this month.

It’s an opportunity for me to lean in and listen to those who have suffered from America’s original sin of racism.

For the last three years during Black History month, I’ve been reading through Bearing the Cross by David Garrow, a Pulitzer award winning bio-epic of Dr. King and the history of the Civil Rights movement.

This book has been like a hammer in terms of deconstructing my “white” Christian self…and theology.

Truth, I’m learning, is largely situated.

All of us absorb like moons the cultures we live in.

There is an inevitable cultural transference.

From those over us like parents and pastors.

To those around us like our peers and pop culture icons.

Not to mention the places we inhabit.

Like our churches and schools and neighborhoods.

Growing up in an evangelical, middle class, suburban culture, for example, I certainly absorbed a particular worldview.  Those who passed it onto me did so with a genuine desire to see me respond to the call of discipleship.

I am so thankful for this.

But having said that, I never had a Dr. King speak into my life early on. Continue reading Deconstructing My “White” Christian Self, Part 3

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Meanwhile Back at The Ranch: It’s Not Always Blue Skies and Butterflies: Part Two

Continued from Part One~

So Monday morning arrived and I was as ready as I could be to face my 7th graders.  Of course, this morning was going to be tougher than usual considering the news I had to share.  I waited for someone to ask about the baby goats, but no one did.  I  quietly announced that we had some “new kids on the block.”  That’s when the questions started rolling out.  I mentioned that we’d had two sets of twins, and I was going to show them a video.  I heard one little girl whisper under her breath, “I only see two; where are the others?”  I let them read the essay I had written about my experience that weekend.  I think I cried four separate times as I talked to four different classes. It was a quiet day in my room.

We still had one pregnant goat left in the pasture.  I tried not to let the loss of the two babies diminish my enthusiasm for the impending birth of Blackie’s offspring.   Blackie had already had one baby while with us: Baby Brown.  She had been a good mother, and the weather was getting warmer, so that was going to be good for the new babies and for me when I videoed her birth.  Of course, I was “in town” when she gave birth on a Sunday afternoon.  Could the goats had known my documentary plan?

A call from Greg revealed that Blackie had given birth to two healthy little girls.  One of them was white with all the brown markings of a typical Boer goat, white body and brown head.  The other goat was the brown of our Red Dirt Chronicles shirts.  Really, that’s the only way I know to describe it, and she had a black stripe down her back and black feet.  I tried to envision them as Greg described them.    The babies were curled up together in the corner of the shed and already as big as small dogs.  I guess their mom had not had time to warn them that I would be wanting to pick them up and hold them, so they were extremely trusting when I made my way to them to touch them and cuddle them one at a time.

Twins!
This was before they really understood that they should be running away from me.

We enjoyed watching our four new babies grow as the week turned into the weekend, and finally, Greg mentioned something about one of Blackie’s babies having the same “hangy downy things” as her mother.  I had not really noticed the “wattles” on either side of Blackie’s neck or on her baby’s neck.  I also did not know they were called “wattles” until I typed in a search for “what are the hangy downy things on either side of my goats neck.”  One of the most reliable web sites revealed that wattles are common…. in DAIRY GOATS.  Blackie is a dairy goat! Continue reading Meanwhile Back at The Ranch: It’s Not Always Blue Skies and Butterflies: Part Two

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Silent Sunday: Ghost Towns, Delapidated Properties and Abandoned Structures ~ by James Corbridge

Introduction: Some of you have seen our “Oklahoma Blog” ring badge on the far right lower section of our front page.  I search through the members at times to see what people in Oklahoma are doing.  This was the way I found some photos by James Corbridge that made me reflect, appreciate times past, be sad for communities lost, and wonder what happened to some of them.  Although James’ repertoire is extensive, I’m just publishing a few shots from a particular section of his Flickr account with his permission today.  Thanks, James, for traveling around and bringing the images to us. ~ Editor, Red Dirt Chronicles


Of his time in Picher, OK James wrote: "I licked my lips. I should not have done that. From that point on, the taste in my mouth was like sucking on coins and everything smelled like a piggy bank. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but my head felt strange. The sun was blazing hot and my hair was soaked in sweat. I forgot all about all of these things when I saw the structures in the distance. Before I knew it, I was running across the toxic mounds of mining waste. I realized that I could not see the car or hear noises from the road. As much as I wanted to inspect the ruins, I stopped running and took a photo where I was. I turned and followed my footprints back. For a moment, I got lost. The footprints were not my own."

Continue reading Silent Sunday: Ghost Towns, Delapidated Properties and Abandoned Structures ~ by James Corbridge

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Simple Sabbath: Sidekicks & Shows About Nothing

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"Arrr, grrr, garble, grrrr, howlllll, arrr *and all sorts of Chewy noises*" (translation: I'm not the sidekick, I'm the main character! Who said I was the sidekick?!)

I don’t know who invented the sidekick, but there should be a lifetime achievement award going to someone. There are many famous sidekicks. For Fred Flintstone, Lone Ranger, Johnny Carson and Sherlock Holmes – they are: Barney Ruble, Tonto, Ed McMahon and Dr. Watson, respectively.

A sidekick does not get center stage or major billing; the supporting role is always subordinate to the main character. (Oh, like you didn’t know that… drive a stake: subordinate to the main character.)

I’m sure there is another blog that extols the virtues of distinguished sidekicks. But I mu st note, just for the record, that the greatest sidekick of all time is Tonto. He had dignity, he had a horse named Scout, and he was fit.

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We are geared for stories and we love heroes. We especially love stories with heroes who have cool sidekicks. I wonder if sidekicks know they are sidekicks?  I mean really, think about it… I’ll bet Chewbacca thought he was the main character. But come on man, who’s he trying to kid? *

Yes, there are stories. We all like to think that we have our own story. But I submit that there is but one Story, The Story and there is only one Hero, capital ‘H’.

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Order Soma 350Mg Online The Star of the Gospel –God, the author of all that is, authors the ultimate story. His story begins in creation; the Bible is His script beginning to end. He reveals Jesus, the true and better Hero. The interesting thing about regular guys like me, is that we somehow think we are the main character. For the most part we pretend to write our own script (Can you say tragedy?); there are self-salvation projects too (all a farce).

The Gospel rewrites our dead-end characters.

By casting Self as the main character, we become comfortable with sprinkling verses from God’s Script to help our story along. According to bumper stickers, Jesus becomes our “best friend” or “co-pilot.” Man fancies himself a “friend of God” because he is willing to let Jesus play a supporting role. But the hero of the God’s story does not accept supporting roles. God has given Him pre-eminence; He must have first place in everything. Continue reading Simple Sabbath: Sidekicks & Shows About Nothing

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.