Take me to the river

Both of my children were baptized when they were ten.

Jayna wore the same blue ribbon of "truth" that I wore when I was baptized at Fairwood in 1974. I found the ribbon, still on its original pin, pressed between the pages of my scrapbook in the attic. I had tears in my eyes as I fixed it to her little collar. The words felt like paste in my mouth as I explained "the truth" to her. I knew I wasn't qualified. And, I stood convicted as she went into the water with her father to complete the Christian tradition of my youth.

I didn't take communion with her that day. Or any day since. My heart was too far from God at the time, and when my heart found its way back home, it was she who would not partake.

Jared asked hard questions before he was baptized. "How do we know that our God is the only God?" and "What if we had never been created?" These were questions I asked myself before I fell asleep at night when I was younger than he was, but I would have never dared ask them aloud. They were questions that struck fear in my heart, and I wasn't sure I wanted to consider the answers.

It was a nearly a year after he went into the baptismal waters that I took communion with Jared. My soul ached as I stood in the circle to receive the bread and wine. And, there was a bitter sweetness in offering my son the elements of the ages knowing the questions in his heart.

I do not know that I have done a good job in the spiritual training of my children. For so long it hurt too much. I wonder now if it is too late. I pray for them. I love them. And, in the end that might be the best that I can do.

Take my hand

Take my hand when you are worried
Take my hand when you're alone
Take my hand and let me guide you
Take my hand to lead you home

Take my hand...

Take him by the tail

...hope arrives in a simple sound when we least expect it. I heard a bird calling from outside the window when I woke this morning. Like a little messenger of joyfulness, it stirred hope and shot little tendrils of anticipation through my heart. I love that feeling.

I chose my quote today from Josh Billings. He wrote under the name: Henry Wheeler Shaw. He was a humorist in the late 1800's--who couldn't spell worth a damn, but is still worth quoting.

"If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."

The following is also attributed to him:

"Don't take the bull by the horns, take him by the tail; then you can let go when you want to."

I like that sort of common sense.

Where do you weep?

Sometimes a picture is worth the postcard upon which it is printed. And, the words, well, they are worth the ink. Check out Post Secret.*
*Warning: Not rated E for EVERYONE.

Don't be jealous...

I know that you will all be green with envy when you hear that someone from Wilayah Persekutuan, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia has been reading my blog.

With the Malaysian bot crawling through the posts on Daughter of Divagation, I have hereby become Blog Queen of the Universe WITHOUT splitting my infinitives.

Take me out to the ballgame

Our seats were in a field box right on the first baseline. The Red Sox were playing the Kansas City Royals, and it was my first visit to Fenway Park.

You have to realize that I am a Tiger's fan through and through-- although until the World Series last year, I hadn't followed baseball since Cecil Fielder was breaking records for Detroit.

These tickets were given to us though along with a free pass for parking in a lot right next to Gate A on the corner of Yawkey Way. I took Jared and two of his friends.

After all, I have lived in New England long enough to consider splitting my allegiance. Just a little. Maybe. And, who couldn't love Fenway Park?

There is something about a stadium, be it on the east coast or in the Motor City, that gets me right in the gizzard. The green, green, green of the grass. The fans bedecked in their caps and jerseys. The smell of beer and hot dogs and peanuts and cotton candy. And, all the excitement of a major league sporting event under the wattage of the field lights on a summer evening.

It was a good game even though they lost. Poppi, Ramirez, Veriteck, CoCo. The lineup was all there in their hometown glory.

The Boston fans surprised me in the bottom of the first inning when they "boooooooed" Red Sox player #20 after his third strike at the plate. Bad form. Bad, bad form. The jeer surely must have been aimed at the ump's call, I thought. Then the next inning the same player hit a ball to right field and got on base. It wasn't a home run or even a triple, but it was a decent hit. I thought. Yet, the crowd still called, "Booooooooooo."

Imagine 50,000 fans booing you. I wasn't at all okay with the lack of respect for this player. I was indignant. We might "blawg" in Michigan, but we would never boo a Detroit Tiger no matter how badly he played. Never.

It took one more roar from the stands before I realized that they were, in fact, saying "Yoooooooooooouk," and not "boooooooo."

Kevin Youkilis, #20. Nickname: "Yoooooooooooouk."

Doh!

For Paige

Light a light for me...