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Montage Moments is a page of blog postings about a variety of subjects, thoughts and opinions..

Another Lesson In Humility

5/31/2013

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    I realize it may seem as though I am stuck on the topic of humility. Perhaps I am, but I thought you would forgive me if I wrote one more post about my obvious difficulty learning it. The following post was written several years ago. A shortened version was published in the Fort Wayne MOMS newspaper insert. I hope you enjoy it and chuckle a little AND take to heart the lessons I listed for my grandchildren.
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       God often teaches me some valuable lessons in seemingly strange ways. I don’t see my ‘little flaws’ through God’s eyes and most often, I am not even aware of the fact that I need a lesson in a certain area of my life. There was a time when the lesson was humility and I can’t say that I learned it quickly.
        I have always liked nice cars. My first car was definitely not new and had several serious faults. Occasionally, while driving, the entire electrical system would suddenly shut down. This was a bit hazardous, especially at night. 
         After the first time it happened, I carried a hammer with me to give the voltage regulator a whack. Being sixteen years old at the time, it didn’t seem like too big of an inconvenience, but I longed for the day when I would have a new car.
         It wouldn’t have to be a Mercedes or a BMW; just a new car that I could drive
with pride and it wouldn’t be necessary to carry a hammer with me.
         
        In the ensuing years, I owned many new vehicles, taking pride in each one. Some of them were fast, four-on-the-floor cars; some were station wagons, pick-up
trucks and vans, depending on my stage of life and my family’s needs. 
         Due to a few bumps in the road of life, I found myself without wheels of any
kind. This situation was impossible and I started looking for a really inexpensive car. 

         The words‘really inexpensive’ and ‘well-running’ cannot be used in conjunction with each other. I became more desperate with each passing day. Out of sheer desperation, I bought a fifteen-year-old van with a small oil leak, pointed out by the owner. I probably should have been suspicious when he graciously offered to leave me the five-gallon bucket of oil in the back of the van. 
 
         Things went downhill from there. The passenger door only opened from the inside and there was no lock in the back hatch door. There was, however, a hole into which I could insert a screwdriver. If I turned it just right, the latch would pop and voile’, the hatch door would open. Needless to say, I kept a screwdriver in the glove box at all times. When I thought it had probably leaked enough oil that I should be checking it, I pulled on the hood lever. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it wasn’t attached to anything! I had to use pliers to grasp the wire that used to be attached to the lever, and pull – hard. It worked. My necessary tool arsenal was growing.

    It was October and getting colder which somehow compromised the sliding side door. It would not open, no matter how hard I pulled. Great! Anyone wanting to set in
a seat other than the two in front would have to crawl in through the back and that was becoming more difficult, because the hatch door didn’t want to stay up on its own, so I either had to hold it up or prop it up with a long stick! Another tool I couldn’t be without.

    At that time, I transported my four grandchildren to school each day; the youngest
still in a car seat. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to put a car seat into a van that has a limited number of doors that open? The loading and unloading of children and book bags can be entertaining if you are the one watching and not participating. I felt as though I was ‘releasing the prisoners’ when I opened the back hatch door, (using my trusty screwdriver) then held it up while they all came crawling out.

    Then I noticed a new phenomenon. While driving alone, (thank God) I had to slam on the brakes. I heard a strange noise in the back. Looking in my rear-view mirror, I saw that one of the individual seats’hooks had obviously disengaged from the floor and the entire seat had fallen forward. When I stepped on the gas, it flew back to its original position. This continued every time I stopped and started!        
 
    Humility was being learned on a daily basis. I often repeated this bible verse from Proverbs 22:verse 4 : ‘By humility and the fear of the Lord are riches and honor and life.’  I gained a whole new empathy for people who were driving less than ‘nice cars.’ I was very selective about where I parked because I didn’t want to leave the inevitable oil stain on a friend’s driveway. The theory that a car is an extension of its owner made me alternately sad and angry. I didn’t want to be ‘worn out’ with half of my parts not working and I didn’t even want to think about the ‘leaking’ part.

    On most days, I approached this phase of my vehicle ownership life with a
sense of thankfulness that the vehicle started every time I turned the key and
it got me from Point A to Point B (as long as I continued to check the oil). There are valuable lessons to be learned from every situation and I prayed that my grandchildren were learning some of them, too. 1) Don’t be too prideful about any of your possessions because you can certainly lose them. 2) You are not defined by your possessions or lack thereof. 3) Strive to maintain a sense of humor at all times. 4) Be thankful for what you do have and most importantly, remember that THINGS are just THINGS and not of eternal importance.

    I thought I was on my way to acceptance and humility, until my sister called. She
was arriving at the airport and asked me to pick her up. My first thought, as I had visions of asking her to crawl to her seat through the back, was: ‘ I’ll just borrow my friend’s car for the day and my sister will never know what I drive.’ Obviously, I still hadn’t let go of my pride.


 
 
 


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A Wake For My Coffee Maker

5/22/2013

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    *Disclaimer: This post is meant to be humorous and is not intended to hurt anyone's feelings or be offensive. Please read it knowing it was written with 'tongue in cheek.'

    I occasionally become attached to inanimate objects. I realize 'things' do not have feelings, relationships or souls. Having said that, I still hate to part with some things that seem perfectly good and some that aren't so good any longer. 
    All kinds of things fall into this category. I remember a green station wagon our family owned. I just loved that vehicle. While on vacation in Michigan, a driver who was not paying attention, slammed that car. We were all safe, but I cried when we had to leave it in Michigan. It seemed it would have been better if it had at least ended up in a salvage yard in it's home state of Indiana. I'm not sure why; it wasn't like I was going to go visit.
    I can't seem to throw any left-over food away either.  (I blame that on my mother.) That is, until I find the container in the back of the 'fridge two weeks later and can't quite discern exactly what it was originally. Then it is easy to dispose of it; the sooner the better.
    I am definitely not a hoarder. I release many things to the trash can or recycling bin without a second thought. But...when I recently had two large tropical plants which no longer were growing like they were supposed to, I had a hard time throwing them away. One of them lost all the bottom branches and consequently resembled a coconut palm tree. They sort of seemed like old friends. (I really don't discard my human friends for any reason, not even if they look like palm trees.)
    I like to say 'things are just things' and move on with life; however, some things are so much harder to pitch. This whole post is leading up to my recently semi-deceased coffee pot. I had a special bond with this coffee maker. It sat on my counter because I used it EVERY single day and sometimes twice a day, for several years. It was the standard coffee pot, not the one-cup frou-frou pots everyone has today. Since my cup of coffee is an ever-present fixture in my hand, I would be making single cups all day long if I had one of those. It stood me in good stead forever. It didn't even succumb after a few times I forgot to turn it off (no automatic shut-off) and had molasses on the bottom of the pot. It kept the liquid at near-boiling point and I could pour that first cup while it was still brewing and it would stop until I replaced the carafe. Yes! What a friend!
    One morning, the unthinkable happened. I grabbed the handle of the carafe and was nearly wearing the entire contents. What the heck! Then I realized the handle had come un-glued at the top.
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    For the first week, I taped a sign to the top of the pot to remind myself I had to grab a couple of hot pads and hang onto the carafe to lift it. That got old quickly (obviously not too quickly if I did it for a week) but I was hoping the coffee pot fairy would fix it some night while I was sleeping and it would be all better in the morning. Okay, on to option #2: I decided I would order a new carafe. For that price, I could buy a whole new pot. Option #3: I considered trying super glue on the handle. Somehow, having it come unglued while pouring scalding hot coffee didn't excite me too much.
    My last resort was to open the box containing a new pot I bought a year ago on Black Friday. I knew immediately this new one was a cheap (it was a Black Friday deal, remember?) flimsy imitation of my beloved coffee pot. 
    I moved the old pot to another counter in the kitchen. I still couldn't throw it out. Surely some bright idea would come to mind. After all, it was perfectly good. Maybe I could sell it in an upcoming garage sale. Then at least it would have a home and someone surely had a carafe setting around without the pot part. OR, better yet, maybe I could find a carafe for it at a garage sale.
    I left it on the counter for a week. Every time I walked past it, I felt like I was at a viewing at a funeral home. I offered myself condolences and then the day came when I couldn't have it taking up space on my counter any longer and it went directly into the garbage bin. I think of it occasionally but not every day.
     Now, my thoughts since then have been a bit more personal. When I am no longer useful because I have come 'un-glued' (some people who know me might argue that has already happened) and my kin can't find any replacement parts for me, will they eventually get tired of my taking up space and find a 'place' for me? If they do, I hope they remember me fondly.
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Humility / An Ongoing Lesson

5/13/2013

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    I have many thoughts about being humble. I was raised by my wonderful, loving, Lutheran, German-ancestry parents. Perhaps you have witnessed something else, but in my experience, if you put Lutheran and German in the same context, too much pride is always a sin.
    My mother was an excellent quilter. She started quilting with her mother when she was 10 years old and continued her whole life.You could have measured her stitches with a micrometer; they would have been identical in size and very tiny. She knew her quilts were beautiful and special, but she would never have bragged about them.
    I once asked her permission to enter one in a quilt show. I tried my best to persuade her; it would be protected from peoples' hands, it would be safe and people would get to see the lovely handiwork and all of her effort. She adamantly refused. I honored her wishes and did not enter it. I have often thought the reason for her refusal was fear of being prideful.
    I can't say that I have inherited as much humility as my parents had. I believe we should be proud of the gifts God has given us, as long as we give him the honor for them. Not a boastful pride, just honestly knowing what we do well and not so well.  
    I have eaten a large slice of humble pie several times in my lifetime (that will be a future post)  and you would think I would learn, but occasionally, I find myself on that high horse of pride again. I should recognize it and be ready for the fall, but unfortunately, it appears I have to keep learning the same lessons over and over again. 
    Recently, I found myself having to create a website; this one. I couldn't afford to have it done for me, which is what I really wanted. I had absolutely, and I mean a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e-l-y, NO idea what I was doing. I am not computer illiterate, but I had no idea where to start. I researched a lot of 'author' sites, read many articles on what words should be in the domain name so it would show up on search engines and a lot of other gook I didn't understand. So, armed with some advice from an online friend and what I had read, I tackled it. 
    I quit in frustration 3 times. Slammed my laptop closed and went to bed, only to get up in 30 minutes and start working on it again. When I had it presentable, I felt like I had given birth. A lot of pain, sweat and some tears, but joy and lots of pride in the finished product AND in my ability, of course.
    I had to let my friends and everyone know about it. The ones who didn't have Facebook received an e-mail so they could see it, too. I got all kinds of great feedback and the needle on my Pride-o-Meter was going off the charts. These were my friends; they loved it. Then I made a mistake; I asked my nephew's wife: sweet, pregnant, Katie, to evaluate the website. She doesn't build websites, but she works with eLearning on a computer every day, is very proficient at what she does and obviously sees many websites in her profession. I even stressed the fact that I wanted her honest opinion and she wouldn't hurt my feelings if she recommended some improvements. 
    She sent me a list of 14 things that she felt needed changed, along with some suggestions about content. Well! My first reaction was one of frustration and defensiveness. I thanked her and decided I liked it the way it was and I would, maybe, change one or two things.

Proverbs 29: v. 23  A man's pride will bring him low, But the humble in spirit will retain honor. NKJV
  
  In the morning, I decided to re-read her advice. I printed it out so I could address her concerns page by page. Once I got over my wounded pride, I realized she was right about so many things. There were a few I did not change, because I wanted them the way they were for my own reasons, but I worked on everything else. I eliminated a page and some images, changed fonts and titles, replaced some images with better ones. When I was finished, I had a much more polished and professional-looking site. 
    I thank Katie for her honesty and direction. I also thank God for helping me see the value in not being prideful AND bull-headed.

Proverbs 13:v 10 : By pride comes nothing but strife, But with the well-advised is wisdom. NKJV

Hopefully, I have gained a little wisdom; however, I know God is not done sanding the rough edges of my pride yet.
    
 

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So Real It Seems Fake

5/8/2013

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    I recently said to my friend, as I admired her spring flowers, "They are so perfect, they almost seem fake."
    After the words left my mouth, I was thinking how totally backward that statement was.
    Weren't fake things:  flowers, fruit, art, fingernails, hairpieces all supposed to be made to look like the real thing? And now we have become so accustomed to fake things and their 'perfectness' we don't say how real they look; instead we say the real ones look like the fake ones. Wow. That was a long convoluted thought; I hope you followed my thinking.
    I remember when the first fake flowers became popular. They were plastic and although they looked like the real thing from a distance, it was pretty evident they weren't real when you really got closer. Some people, who obviously didn't have green thumbs or time to plant, would put them in their flowerbeds. The plastic red geraniums looked very convincing until they had been in the sun for a few months and began to fade. The real effect was definitely compromised when they were left out a few more months and had snow on them.
    Then came the silk flowers and the fake fruit that was truly beautiful and hard to tell from the real thing. There are many advantages to the silk flowers: they don't fade, wilt, die, or need water. You also don't have to buy new ones for each season. Just pack them away and when spring rolls around again, unpack and voila! new flowers.
    No matter how beautiful they are, there is something lacking; imperfections.  Maybe that is why I commented that my friend's flowers were so real and 'perfect' they looked fake.
    Isn't that true of many people, also? They appear fake, because they are so perfect. Perfect marriages, perfect children, perfect friends, perfect finances, perfect occupations, blah, blah, blah. I'm not suggesting we all need to share everything about our lives, but admitting a little imperfection is good for us.
    I attended a writing conference last summer. The advice from several agents and publishers was to always be personally transparent. Believe me, it was not necessary to tell me that; I live with my special needs daughter and if I am not honest about something I do or have said, she will tell people exactly how it was.
    My grandson who was 8-years-old at the time this picture was taken, mistook this fake apple for a real one, and proceeded to try to take a bite (notice teeth marks). I have kept it around for 7 years to serve as a reminder to myself to always be as 'real' as I can be, in my writing and in my daily life. I believe it is what God would want.

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This Is A Test

5/7/2013

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I am writing this as a test page and I will delete it as soon as I figure out how to correct a few things. Working on my website is fun and frustrating, to say the least. I am so happy when I finally get an element to do what I want. My one arm is going to be longer than the other from reaching around and patting myself on the back.

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Observations From A Baseball Stadium

5/1/2013

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    I had the privilege of attending a minor league baseball game in Fort Wayne, IN yesterday afternoon. First, let me state the stadium is fantastic. It rivals any major league stadium.
    Secondly, it was an absolutely perfect day for baseball watching. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, the tantalizing smell of hot dogs permeated the air and my daughter and I had great seats. The various colors of clothing, etc. looked like someone had dumped a giant bag of multi-colored confetti in the stands. What more could a person ask for?
    The action on the field was a little slow for a few innings so it became a perfect day for people watching and observations.The well-dressed couple to my right and down a few rows puzzled me. I couldn't decide if it was a man and wife couple or a man and his mother. Either way, they never spoke a single word to each other or looked at each other. He got something to eat while she stayed in her seat, but he never offered a morsel to her. If they were a couple, they were obviously not speaking; if they were parent and adult child, well, shame on them because they weren't speaking either. Maybe it was his mother-in-law and he had been forced to take her to the game. They left together, still not saying a word.
    Directly to my right was a group of 4 men, obviously conducting a business meeting and eating lunch, but not watching the game so much. There were busloads of young children from various schools. They were enjoying it the most.
    Then I watched as a 'person in charge' called a teenage girl up to the top of the stairs. The girl was with a group of some sort and I don't know what she did or didn't do, but she must have received a royal chewing out. She was crying when she returned to her seat. I am such a sucker for tears; I almost went to her and consoled her. 
    The 'daddy' on our left had his young (probably 4-years-old) son with him. They were having a good time and only had to crawl over us once. I was impressed by that and I am also a sucker for a man with a child. 
    I am always amazed by the number of people at any sports event or concert venue who obviously have a form of ADD or something. They make me laugh. I'm not sure how they ever watch anything or know what's going on, because they never spend more than 5 continuous minutes in their seats. They leave, crawling across 10 people, to buy something to eat. After they get settled in their seats, they remember they should have purchased a drink, too. They leave to get the drink. Shortly after they return and swallow a few sips, their bladder is telling them to find a restroom. They come back to their seats only to realize they never had any 'sweet treat.' Off they go to buy ice cream or some such confection. Now they've returned, licked the last bit of sugar off their lips and realize it has made them really thirsty again. The cycle never ends.
    In case you're wondering if I ever watched the game; I did, thank you very much and I stayed in my seat, too. I believe I probably learned this as a very young child in church. I asked my mother once, "Did you ever have to take me out of the service when I was a toddler?" Her reply was succinct: "Only once," she said.
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    Author: Gloria Doty

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